The Phantom Romance
by DrellNCo
Summary: Elizabeth Mayers is your typical high school theater geek. With divorced parents, an abusive father, and little musical success, the soprano begins to despair. That is, until a voice named Erik offers to tutor her in music. A modern POTO.
1. Auditions

"My love, why are you shaking?"

Amy May looked over at me, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. Though they were often very wide (perhaps unfortunately so), somehow, they seemed wider than ever. Perhaps it was the hall lights, though. There was something funny about the radiant fluorescent lights that plagued most high schools, especially in Polk Public High School. I daresay that even I was not safe from them, though I preferred to think that my makeup was perfectly intact despite the improper lighting.

"I'm nervous as hell," she replied, pacing back and forth between lockers 268 and 289. "I really want to get in, but I'm not sure I have the voice. How picky do you think they'll be?"

"You have a lovely voice," I said sincerely, flopping on the floor next to my backpack. "Why should you worry?" I paused for a moment, then added, "Should I go quickly change into a skirt before my audition? Or would that look sort of desperate?"

"It's only a high school musical, not Broadway," said Amy, snickering. "Unless Mr. Fitzwilliam wants to see your long, luxurious legs."

"I hardly think them luxurious," I replied dryly. "They are much larger than most young girls' legs."

"Yeah, they are." She must've seen the look on my face, because she quickly added, "But it's because you play soccer. It's... uh... muscle."

"You pain me, my love," I sighed, running my hand down my blue jeans, as if to flatten my already too-large legs.

"Elizabeth. Is it so hard for you not to talk as if you've been dropped out of a Victorian romance?"

I glared at her over my fake glasses. My mother hated these glasses, but I loved them. I thought they made me look a bit smarter. Of course, my mother thought they made me look ugly, but mothers will say such things. I gave them a tap, then sighed again.

"You know it gives me little pleasure to correct your incorrectness; however, I will not shirk. These so-called 'romances' are in fact books written by Jane Austen, and I think them more clever commentaries on society than 'romance'. Then again, as is with most of today's youth, you may not understand the delicate differences between the classics and today's so called 'literature.'"

"Oh, of course. I should have known better. Now if you'll PARDON me, I have to go slit my wrists."

I shot her a glance. What did she mean by that? Did she know... No, apparently not, because she was giggling like a fiend at her own witticism.

"As you like," I said stiffly.

Just then, the choir room door swung open. Our musical director, Miss Lazerth, glared at us steadily. She was a fifty-something woman with a prematurely lined face and thick glasses. I personally thought her to be something of a grouch, but I never acted like I thought so. When I saw her face appear, I gave her a courteous smile and nodded.

"Is an... Amy May here?" she asked irritably.

"That's me," squeaked Amy, quivering nervously.

"We're ready for you."

Amy shot me a desperate look. I grinned encouragingly, but I didn't feel as much as I portrayed. Sure, Amy had a good voice, but she was the type to get nervous and completely screw up an audition. I hoped that she made it, though. It was my first year doing the school musical, and I didn't know that many people who had been in the show the year before. Plus, many of the theater geeks had a notorious reputation for being the weirdest kids in school. Though I was considerably strange myself, I sometimes found that I became very shy around those I didn't know well and found it difficult to be openly weird. While I would fit in normally, my shy self wouldn't. With a friend around, I would be able to act more like myself.

Her audition was brief. It seemed only thirty seconds later that she reappeared. She looked totally crushed. I began preparing myself to be the comfort committee, but apparently, I didn't have time for such things. Miss Lazerth paused in the doorway as Amy exited, and once she had fully cleared the door, she spoke again.

"Elizabeth Mayers, I presume?" She gave me a cold, beady look.

"The same," I replied wittily.

"We're ready for you."

I removed my glasses and followed her into the choir room.

Mr. Fitzwilliam gave me a warm smile as I entered. I loved him very dearly (as a teacher, that is), and if I wasn't mistaken, he felt the same about me. I loved him for a variety of reasons-- His sense of humor, his strict but caring way of directing, and above all, his musical genius. From only a year of being in his choir, I could see that he was one of the most accomplished musicians I would ever meet in my lifetime.

"You have three beats before the music begins. You're trying out as a soprano, right?" Mr. Fitzwilliam looked at me through his glasses which, by the way, were completely real.

"Yes, of course," I stammered nervously. Chill, I told myself. You have this. You know you have this.

"Wouldn't have you do otherwise," he replied, still smiling.

Tap. Tap. Tap. There they were, the three beats marking the tempo. The first chord. The second. And then... my entrance.

"I've never been in love before Now all at once it's you It's you forevermore I've never been in love before I thought my heart was safe I thought I knew the score But this is wine That's all too strange and strong I'm full of foolish song And out my song must soar So please forgive this helpless haze I'm in I've really never been In love before."

"Thank you," said Miss Lazerth monotonically.

"Yes, thank you," echoed Mr. Fitzwilliam, however, in a much warmer tone. "Callbacks will be posted on my bulletin board. Make it a point to check," he added in a quiet voice, almost as if he didn't want Miss Lazerth hearing.

"Thanks," I replied, jamming my hands in my pocket and walking out.

"Well? Well? How did it go?" Amy grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and clung on for dear life. "What did they say?"

"Nothing, really. Fitz told me to look at the callback board, but Miss Lazerth didn't seem to like me much."

"Oh, she doesn't like anyone!" laughed Amy, slowly loosening the grip on my arm. "But I'm sure you sang well, didn't you?"

For no apparent reason, I blushed deeply. "I think so."

"You've got such a pretty voice, Elizabeth," sighed Amy. "If only I had your voice!"

I turned from her, suddenly lost in my own reflections. Yes, I had sang well. Almost too well. I had a voice that was more than a touch operatic, and sometimes, it killed me in theater auditions. Plus, I was a terrible actress... I had no expression on my face when I sang, or at least, that's what my voice teacher always used to harp on me about. But I had certainly sang well. The high G had simply soared as I never expected it to soar. If there was one thing I had faith in, it was my voice. Not much else in my life was that stable. But my voice... That I always had.

"Let's go," I murmured, pressing my hand against Amy's shoulder. "It's getting late."

I bid Amy adieu once we reached the auditorium entrance. I had to go to my locker one more time, and it was all the way down in the basement of the school, and I didn't mean to make Amy walk all the way down there. She smiled and waved at me enthusiastically, but her smile suddenly melted off her face after several seconds. I couldn't understand why, until--

"Well, Elizabeth Mayers. You look sweet today."

I whirled to my left, only to find myself face-to-face with Sean Winters. He was my one of my ex-boyfriends, but a very friendly one at that. Though we had been awkward for almost a year after our breakup, we had recently become very good friends. The only problem was, being friends with Sean Winters-- as a girl, that is-- meant that you were always a little something more than friends.

"Come on. We won't disgust Amy any further," he said in a low voice, putting his arm around my shoulders and leading me away from the door.

"You shouldn't have done that," I replied furiously, trying to shake his arm off. "What if she tells Larry?"

Larry was my current boyfriend. He was very nice, and also about as exciting as toast.

"What would she say? That she caught you in my presence?" He gave me a mocked horrified look. "What ever will we do?"

"Shut up," I hissed, finally successfully removing his arm from my shoulders. "You know what I mean."

Sean paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Which reminds me. When are you going to give your biggest fan a kiss?" He resumed clutching me to him, which I did not appreciate.

"I have a boyfriend," I said pointedly.

"Oh, who cares!" he laughed. "Have you even kissed him yet? Have you?"

I didn't answer.

"Ah! He sounds like an exciting one. But you must be missing it," he added in a breathy whisper.

Chills ran down my spine. Truthfully, Sean Winters wasn't attractive. He had a long, prominent nose, ratty brown hair, and the worst teeth I had ever witnessed in America. But he had what some of my friends called "sex appeal". He gave off certain vibes that made you want to grab his hand and run into a darkened stairwell to make out with him. Not to mention those eyes... God, those eyes! They were a deep, ocean blue, fringed by a dark set of eyelashes. It wasn't that Sean Winters was attractive, but he was more of a man than most boys in our school. He wasn't afraid of rejection, nor was he afraid to tell you exactly what he wanted. Funnily enough, sometimes, it made you want the exact same thing once he'd voiced it.

Oh, and there was one other thing... Something I probably should have mentioned first. His voice. Yes, he was the most conceited tenor in choir, but somehow, he almost had a right to be. He had a voice that had, on many occasions, caused me to slump against a wall in the wings backstage. Usually by that point, I would be shaking and giggling myself silly. There was something incredibly raw about his voice, and yet it was rich and operatic, not to mention so, so manly. He became someone different when he was singing... Someone beautiful, passionate, and sexy. I wasn't strange in my thinking this. Everyone thought so. My strangeness came from the fact that I was the only one to think that he actually retained these qualities when he wasn't singing.

"You're an idiot," I replied shakily, pushing him away from me.

"So, what'd you think of auditions, eh?" His voice made a sudden change from suave and sexy to his normal self, which I admit I liked a little better. "If I don't get a lead, I'll know it's fixed. I don't get who they're going to give Sky to. I mean, Nathan's completely fixed-- That'll be Raymond Webber. He's perfect for the part, even if his voice is a little weak. But Sky?"

"Raymond Webber?" I repeated, my curiosity piqued. "Do you think so?"

"Duh."

"What about the... uh... the girl leads?" I glanced up at him hopefully.

"Adelaide will obviously go to Ashley Glaub, only because she would only need to act like herself to play that part well," he said seriously.

"That's so mean!" I cried, stunned that he could speak about her in such a way. I knew that he thought her to be very pretty, and yet he could openly call her stupid?

"Listen, you know it's true. Have you ever heard two words of sense come out of Ashley's mouth?"

I admitted I hadn't.

"Yeah, well, that makes her perfect for Adelaide. But Sarah..." He paused, and my heart leapt hopefully. "I don't know who they'll put there. Maybe Jessica Klein. She's a senior."

My heart sank as quickly as it had risen. Jessica Klein? She didn't have the voice. Yes, she had the acting, but she definitely didn't have the voice. I mean, the girl could hardly reach a high G cleanly. How did they expect her to play Sarah Brown?

"It's not definite," he added, seeing the look on my face. "God, I'm not Miss Lazerth. You take me too seriously, sweetie."

He cupped my chin in his mouth. I let him for a second, then jerked my head away. He sighed deeply.

"One of these days, you're going to enjoy me. But right now, I've got to go. My parents are going to kill me for taking so long."

"I'll see you, then," I squeaked, my chest suddenly tight.

As he began to walk away, I felt something rising within me that shouldn't ever be allowed to escape from a girl. It was a natural sort of longing, but at the same time, it was indecent and improper. Maybe a boy could allow himself to feel such emotions, but as a girl, especially a girl who revered Jane Austen, could not let such feelings to dictate her actions. But I didn't care. I really didn't anymore.

"Sean!" I yelled.

He turned to face me, a puzzled smile on his face. I moved forward a few paces. His face was very close to mine. I found that I could no longer look in his eyes. He didn't take his eyes off my face, though, and before I could react, I felt his chapped lips brush against mine. It was quick and clean-- Nothing dirty about it at all. But I suddenly felt very indecent. Was kissing a boy for less than a second considered cheating? Probably. But I knew Sean wouldn't tell. He was the greasiest, sleaziest guy in school, but he was respectable to some degree.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

"Aw, sweetie, don't be such a drama queen," he chuckled. He swooped down upon me and we kissed again. "See you tomorrow."

"'Bye," I called after him.

It wasn't right, but I didn't care. Every atom in me tingled with happiness. I watched him walk down the hall until I couldn't see him anymore, then turned and ran down the stairs, my heart pounding in my ears. 


	2. Callbacks

free web hosting web host website marketing strategy affordable web hosting php hosting web page hosting web hosting website hosting web hosting service web hosting FREE DOWNLOADS in the Free Online Encyclopedia

"You're a moron."

I peered over my Biology notes to look Amy May in the eyes. "Do you think?"

"Let's see, Lizzy. You made the mistake of going out Sean Winters in your youth--"

"It was freshman year," I reminded her.

"Whatever. You made this... MISTAKE... once. Most normal people would laugh it off, chalk it up as an experience. But you? No. You go off and make out with him in broad daylight." She shook her head in disbelief.

"I did not MAKE OUT with him," I hissed, leaning over to smack her arm. "We just kissed a bit. It was very romantic."

"Really? Did his you-know-what get excited before or AFTER you started kissing?"

"Amy!" I growled. "Honestly."

We were both at callbacks for Guys and Dolls, and we were both more than a little bit nervous. I had been called back for the biggest of the big-- Sarah Brown. Amy was called back for Adelaide, though she didn't think she had much of a chance against Ashley Glaub. I didn't want to be mean, but I sort of agreed with her.

Fitz and Lazerth had stuck us in the back of the auditorium, so we were forced to watch every single callback. It wasn't so bad, I guess, except that some of the boys had ridiculously bad voices. It was pretty depressing, actually. I loved boys with good voices. For me, there was nothing-- absolutely NOTHING-- that was sexier than a good voice. I wasn't usually a lusty person, but after hearing Sean Winters sing, I would gladly kiss him for hours. Not that I ever have or anything.

Actually, Amy and I had almost fallen asleep when it happened. My head was drooping on her shoulder, and Jessica Klein was butchering "I'll Know". Sean winked at me across the auditorium, and then...

CRASH!

A huge stage light fell to the stage, only a few feet shy of Jessica. She screamed and practically leapt offstage, while the light burst into flame briefly before settling into a crackling, sizzling mess. I nearly leapt twenty feet in the air, and I wasn't the only one. It seemed that the whole auditorium was in chaos. Fitz looked as if he was ready to have a heart attack, and Lazerth looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon.

"God! What was that?" cried Amy, clutching onto my arm painfully.

"Okay, you need to get off," I replied irritably.

"Do you think Jessica is okay? Is the light still on fire, do you think? I can't believe this!" she squealed, now resorting to burying her entire face in my shoulder.

"Everyone! Quiet!" Miss Lazerth screeched over the roar of exclamations. "Please exit the auditorium as quickly and in as orderly a fashion as possible."

Mr. Fitzwilliam was comforting Jessica and leading her off the stage as the rest of us made our way towards the door like a bunch of singing, dancing cattle. Sean came up behind me to brush his fingers against my thigh, but I merely gave him a "not-right-now-can't-you-see-there's-a-crisis" look. I glanced back at Miss Lazerth, who was staring at the stage in a surprisingly expressionless manner for a teacher who had almost seen one of her students killed.

Once outside, the potential cast members buzzed with fantastical stories of sabotage by someone who hadn't wanted Jessica to get the part.

"But wasn't everyone who got called back for Sarah Brown already in the auditorium?" piped up a freshman who had been called back for Sky.

"Of course, you idiot, but obviously the person wasn't going to do it themselves," replied Sean, who was quite at home amidst the scandal and intrigue. "Jesus Christ, freshmen get more and more clueless every year."

"So you think she hired someone?" asked Amy, who, despite all her efforts to ignore Sean, found herself suddenly engaged.

"It's possible," said Sean mysteriously, stroking an imaginary beard.

I was staring off into the distance, considering all these possibilities when I realized I'd left my copy of Pride and Prejudice backstage. I'd normally just let it be, but it was a library book and my father had been known to ground me for weeks on end for even a ten cent overdue fine. Who knew when I'd be allowed back into the auditorium?

"Oh no!" I exclaimed suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked, staring at me curiously.

"I left my book backstage," I said unhappily. "I really need to get it."

"Is a Jane Austen book worth going past a flaming mass of metal?" Amy looked at me incredulously.

"If it means not having my father yell at me, then yes, it is worth it," I replied through gritted teeth. "I'm going back in."

I squeezed past the tittering group of Adelaides to get to the auditorium door, which was fortunately still slightly open. I pulled it open just enough to get myself through-- "just enough" was still quite a lot, I noticed disgruntledly-- and slipped into the cavernous space. Lazerth had already abandoned the place, and it was empty except for a strange-looking stagehand named Mr. Kellog who was examining the quietly sizzling light that lay smashed on the stage floor. He didn't even glance at me as I began to make my way up the stage steps.

Before our school was built (which was only about ten years ago, by the way), the property had been entirely dedicated to ECPAC, which stood for Essex County Performing Arts Center. Therefore, we had a huge, complex theater that no one really knew what to do with. The school still used it, but it was also often rented out to professional theater companies. To me, our stage was the most beautiful part of school. It was also the weirdest and creepiest, especially since the oddball hired stagehands always hung around in the auditorium.

When I took my first step onto the stage floor, the stagehand finally acknowledged me.

"It came from above," he said, as if the light was a sign from God.

"I'm aware," I replied coldly. "How did it fall?"

"No idea," he replied, leering at me. "Well, actually..." He paused. "You know the story of the Opera Ghost, I'm sure," he murmured.

"I don't believe in ghost stories, Mr. Kellog," I said firmly.

"This is one you might believe, sweetheart." His eyes glowed excitedly. "Only a few years ago, a boy came into this place, looking for so-called education. His education wasn't needed, though. He was a brilliant mathmetician-- An architecht, too, they said. But it wasn't only architechture and math he did... He was a musician!"

"Mr. Kellog, I really should--"

"He had an enchanting voice," he told me suddenly, as if he knew already that this would cause me to halt. It did. I had a great respect for "enchanting" voices. "More enchanting than anyone I'm sure you've ever heard. It could make anyone fall in love with him, I'm sure, had they given him a chance. But there was something wrong... Something terribly wrong... His face..."

"His face?" I echoed, looking about as intelligent as a wombat.

"He was deformed from birth. He was required to wear a mask so not to scare the other children. But I don't think they had to worry so much about the CHILDREN being scared as the children scaring HIM. He was teased relentlessly, of course. And one day, when he'd had enough, the class president was found dead on the stage and the ghost vanished. It was decided that he'd killed himself in his misery. But his spirit is still here... I feel it, every morning and every night... I hear him singing sometimes..."

"Mr. Kellog!" A voice rang out from the back of the auditorium. I realized that Miss Lazerth had re-entered the auditorium without my noticing. She began to storm towards the stage, her lined face even harder than usual. "You know you shouldn't be talking such nonsense, and especially not to such impressionable young people as Miss Mayers. I plan to have a word with the stage manager about you."

"Why not let them know?" Mr. Kellog stared out at all of us, looking but not seeing. "Why lie?"

Lazerth's heels clicked authoritatively as she stalked up onstage and in the direction of Mr. Kellog. It was then that Miss Lazerth did something I'd never seen her do before. She violently grabbed Mr. Kellog's sleeve and jerked him towards her. For a moment, I thought she was going to smack him across the face, but instead, she hissed something in his ear. When they broke apart, Mr. Kellog nodded slightly and quickly exited the stage. Miss Lazerth straightened up and stared out of me, shaken, but composed.

"Detention, Elizabeth," she said in a strange voice. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at 7:30."

"But Miss Lazerth!" I exclaimed, stunned. "I didn't do anything wrong! My book--"

"I will see you at 7:30," she repeated. "That is my final word."

"Does that mean I didn't get the part?" I whispered, my eyes beginning to tear.

"How can you possibly think about something like that right now?" she snapped suddenly. "Callbacks have been indefinitely postponed until the stage has been inspected to meet safety standards!"

Back at my locker, I thought I might cry, but I didn't. Amy was too caught up with her fan club, and no one else had really spoken to me otherwise. But it wasn't just that that had bothered me. It was the fact that I probably wouldn't get a part, not after I'd made Miss Lazerth so angry. Jessica Klein would probably get it instead.

People seemed to have realized this-- Well, one person, that is. Sean had been holding Jessica's hand on the way back from the auditorium. And the worst was, she didn't seem to mind at all. 


	3. The Deal

I found myself in detention at 7:28 the next morning, upset and shivering ever so slightly. It was the beginning of March, but it might have just as easily been the middle of January, it was so cold. Miss Lazerth was waiting for me when I arrived, her face puckered into a typically sour expression.

"Sit," she said coldly.

Not meeting her eyes, I obeyed. I wasn't sure why I even had detention, really .I wasn't just trying to act innocent or anything-- All I had done was listen to the stagehand's fantastical story. I knew it wasn't true, just as I knew Santa Clause wasn't real. Though I was an "impressionable youth", I didn't think myself THAT stupid, and surely, Miss Lazerth knew that. However, judging by her behavior, she thought me as naive and silly as someone who DID believe in Santa Clause.

"I was disappointed in you yesterday," she said smoothly and quietly, shuffling a stack of papers.

"But Miss Lazerth, I didn't actually--"

"Silence!"

Again, I obeyed. Though I knew her to be a tough disciplinarian, I felt this was going a little too far. I felt as if I was back in the 1800's and I was being punished for allowing my petticoat to show.

"You will serve detention until the start of school at 8:00," she hissed lowly. "Then, you will proceed to your homeroom."

"Okay," I replied, my voice quivering slightly.

"Don't you dare leave this room," she commanded. "I'm going to get some coffee."

I nodded obediently, even though I felt her commands a little unnecessary. I wasn't a bad kid, really, and I didn't think I really needed to be told not to move. As soon as she left, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. I'd had to get up a half hour earlier than usual just to serve this stupid detention, and it was definitely affecting me. I couldn't fall asleep, though... She'd kill me if she found me sleeping... But oh, it felt so good to have my eyes closed...

"She will not return for some time."

I snapped straight up in my chair. I suddenly felt as if an icy wave had just washed over me. An eerie, high-pitched voice had just spoken, and I had just heard it. Could I have been dreaming? No, I had definitely heard it. It sounded almost as if it belonged to a woman, but I knew it belonged to a man. It had a certain quality to it that was definitely masculine.

"Do not be afraid," the voice went on. "I will not harm you."

"Who ARE you? No, WHERE are you?" I breathed, my heart racing like a bird's. "Who's there?"

"Hush," whispered the voice. Though I was frightened out of my wits, I had to admit to myself that the voice had a certain soothing manner. It had an almost musical ring to it, and each spoken word seemed like a note in a song.

"This isn't funny," I snapped suddenly. "Mr. Kellog, if you're playing some stupid joke on me just because of your stupid Opera Ghost story--"

A soft, slightly maniacal laughter echoed throughout the room. Then, a mournful voice said, "Mr. Kellog is no more."

"What do you mean?" I turned my eyes towards the ceiling, looking around for a place where whoever was doing this could be hiding. It was then that I noticed a vent in the far left corner of the room. By this point, I was really angry. Whoever was doing this was obviously having a really good laugh about my fear, and I didn't appreciate it at all. Without pausing to think, I grabbed the chair from behind Miss Lazerth's desk and leaned it up against the wall. I stood on my tiptoes to lean my lips towards the vent.

"Very funny, whoever you are," I said irritably. I then leaned my ear against the vent to see what the moron playing this joke would have to say in reply.

Again came the soft laughter. Then, a mere two words, spoken by a voice that was both admiring and amused: "Clever girl."

I cursed whoever it was under my breath. I was about to hop off the chair when all of a sudden, Miss Lazerth burst through the door.

"What are you doing?" she snapped.

"I heard someone talking through the vent," I said weakly, quickly climbing off the chair.

I thought she'd yell at me some more, but she didn't. Instead, she sank into a chair at one of the student tables and buried her face in her hands.

"Erm, Miss Lazerth? Are you okay?" I managed to say through my surprise.

"Go. Please. Just go."

I was even more surprised at this concession. I still had ten minutes more of detention to serve, and from what I'd heard of Lazerth, she was hard about sticking to the rules. But hey, I wasn't one to protest. After all, who ever complained about getting out of detention?

There were quite a few students by the time I left the room, and I said hello to many of my friends as I walked. I admit, I was quite conceited and pleased with the bit of popularity I had. Everyone seemed to know me. It was probably because I was an athlete, not to mention I had some vocal talent. I didn't see Amy yet, but I figured she was down in the basement near our lockers. Turning on my heel, I began to stride quickly back past where I had served detention to the stage. Our lockers were down the stairs next to the auditorium. Unfortunately, the auditorium was usually locked up during school hours, so Amy and I rarely got to fool around up there.

As I approached the stage area, I heard a dull drone slowly get louder and louder. It was then that I noticed (I hadn't before, since I'm blind as a bat... I swear, I need glasses, if only my mom would let me get some!) that there was a huge crowd of people in the lobby in front of the main auditorium doors. Not only was there a crowd, but there were policemen, girls crying, and a very harassed looking superintendent of schools.

"Hey there, Lizzy."

Before I knew what was happening, I felt a hand on my backside.

"Sean!" I shrieked. "Get OFF me!" I turned around and hit him, hard, on the side of his arm.

"Owww. What'd you do that for?" he moaned, rubbing his arm.

"Don't ever touch me like that," I hissed, mad as a goose. "How dare you--"

"Oh calm down, Lizzy Mayers," he laughed, reaching to put his arm around my shoulders.

"It's Elizabeth," I replied stiffly, dodging his arm.

"Such a prude," he sighed, finally folding his arms and keeping his hands to himself.  
"You're a moron," I snapped irritably. I was inclined to stay angry with him, but he had been at the crime scene longer than I had, so I decided to ask, "What's going on here?"

"Ah, no one's told you yet?" He gave me a mysterious look.

"Um, obviously not," I said snobbishly.  
"The old stagehand Kellog decided life wasn't worth living anymore, if you know what I mean," Sean told me, his eyes gleaming.

"You mean..." I gasped.

"Yup. Found him with a rope around his neck."

"Oh my God," I exclaimed, clutching my chest. "It's horrible! Whatever made him do such a thing?"

Sean shrugged. "Do I look like a psychologist? C'mon, Lizzy, you're a smart girl. I'm sure you can see why he'd do it. Being a smelly old stagehand for some high school in the middle of no where-- Who wouldn't commit suicide?"

"You're a rude, insensitive..." I searched for the right insult, but couldn't will myself to curse-- "JERK and I have no further use for you!" I practically yelled, wanting to hit him again. Instead, I adjusted my backpack and began to walk away. I could hear his laughter echoing in my ears as I left.

"A jerk? That's all?" he called after me.

"I don't curse, unlike some people!" I yelled back. "I wouldn't expect you to understand!"

The school was still buzzing with ideas of suicide and occasionally murder by 4:30 that afternoon, the time at which callbacks were supposed to recommence. No one wanted to go anywhere near the stage now that it was tainted with death. Then again, no one wanted to lose his or her chance at a good part, either. So at 4:45, Amy May and I trudged up the stairs to the stage entrance. We gave each other a long look before throwing open the door and stepping through. To our shock and bewilderment, the auditorium was completely empty except for some yellow police tape on the stage.

"It's awful," Amy whispered, leaning up against me.

I was about to shove her off, but just then, I felt a little queasy myself. So instead, I grabbed her hand and held it close to my side.

"Were they cancelled or something?" I mumbled, feeling frozen.

"But wouldn't the door have been locked?" Amy replied, her voice quavering.

"We should probably go," I muttered uncomfortably.

It was then that something really terrible happened. Well, it wasn't terrible then. But looking back on it, it really was terrible, because it was part of how it all began. I was still staring up at the stage when I had the distinct notion that someone was standing behind me. Before I could turn, however, I felt someone playfully flick the back of my ponytail. My hair was long-- down to my waist-- and one of my most treasured possessions, and NO ONE was allowed to touch my hair without previous permission.

"What was that?" I cried, turning around violently.

"What are you talking about?" exclaimed Amy, jumping a few inches away from me. "God, you scared me!"

"I felt someone touch my hair," I explained hurriedly, grabbing my long blonde hair in my hands, as if the violator might come back and touch it again.

"Oh, give me a break." Amy laughed nervously. "Your hair's so long, you can never tell who's touching it."

"That's not true," I snapped bitterly. "I felt someone touch it."

"Maybe it's a ghost, then," she teased. "Come on, let's get out of here. Between you and your hair, I'm getting creeped out."

"You'd be a lot more creeped out if someone touched YOUR hair," I muttered unhappily.

We quickly went back out into the hall. As we slammed the door closed, we saw that there was an obvious white sign on the door: DO NOT ENTER STAGE AREA. Musical callbacks have been moved to the upstairs cafeteria.

"We're morons. Did you know that?" I sighed, relieved.

"Speak for yourself," Amy giggled.

I turned around and hit her. Not hard. But hard enough to make her squeal a bit.  
Callbacks were drawing to a close at about 7:00, but I still hadn't gone yet. Yes, I had read from the script (and had done horribly), but I hadn't sung. My singing was the most important aspect of my callback, especially since I couldn't act. I could sing, though. I could definitely sing. The whole acting thing was just plain embarrassing, especially since it was done in front of everyone-- Sean Winters included. I even had to read a scene with him, with me reading the part of Sarah and he the part of Sky. Everyone "ooooh"ed when our names were called, which I felt was slightly inappropriate. I mean, we had gone out in our freshman year. What was the big deal that we had to read a love scene when we were mature juniors? Honestly.

Still, I couldn't help but be pretty pink in the cheeks the whole time. Sean kept imitating my gestures from across the room, and whenever I caught his eye, he'd smirk at me teasingly. He knew how bad I was at acting. Not that he was one to talk-- He was an even worse actor than me! All he had was his voice. In a way, we were very similar, I guess. We both had what people called "outstanding" vocal talent, but our acting skills left much to be desired.

Callbacks seemed to be winding down, and I still hadn't gotten to sing. Finally, Miss Lazerth said, "Did anyone not get to sing? I think I've heard everyone, haven't I?"

"I didn't go," I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment. Were my chances for the part so little that she didn't even care if I sang or not?  
"Oh. Yes." Lazerth blinked distractedly. "How could I forget?" she added unconvincingly. "Go ahead... You may sing 'I'll Know'." She turned to Fitz and nodded his cue to start the introduction.

I stood up in front of the entire room, swaying slightly on my feet. I could already begin to feel the intoxication beginning. When I was singing for an audience, I became someone different. Everything I tried to hide away suddenly was torn open and thrown into the air for everyone to witness. My deepest emotions-- love, hate, lust, pain-- they all gleamed like forgotten jewels in front of the eyes of all my peers. But only when I was singing. Only then could they see the effort it took to force each note, like a piece of my soul, out of my body. Only then could they hear my vocal chords sliding across each part of the music, making love to every word in the song.  
By the time the song had concluded, the entire audience looked shocked. One person in the back began to applaud me, but Miss Lazerth silenced him with a look. My face rushed with blood. Suddenly, I was the person everyone knew again. I felt the judgement of my peers. I felt their cold eyes boring into my body, scrutinizing each movement I made, every facial expression I allowed to cross my face. I quickly sat back down next to Amy, whose eyes were filled with tears.

"I forget how well you can sing sometimes," she croaked, holding my arm affectionately. "It's just... shocking."

This time, I took no notice as I shoved her arm away. I hated the way she touched me all the damn time. Especially after something like this had just occurred-- I needed time to think and reflect over my performance, to pull out and moan over any flaws that I might've noticed. But I couldn't think of anything I had done wrong. My breathing, my posture, the positioning of my mouth... It had all been perfect. Surely Miss Lazerth had noticed this? Surely she would give me a chance...?

But as I looked up, I saw her smiling and laughing with Jessica Klein. Sean Winters was lurking in the background, waiting his turn to hold hands with the little wench. I couldn't help it. I was angry. I was angry because Jessica Klein didn't have half the talent I did, and yet, she was going to get the part.

"I have to get something from my locker. Don't tell them where I am if anyone asks," I snapped, practically jumping out of my seat.

"Elizabeth! Where are you going?" cried Amy, reaching for my hand. I pulled it out of her reach. "What's wrong? Elizabeth?" She followed me to the door.

"Just leave me alone!" I said in a hot whisper, slamming the door in her face.

My heart was still pounding by the time I made it down two flights of stairs. As I crossed through the doors into the basement where my locker was, I realized that it was as dark as a tomb. The stupid janitors had already turned off all the lights downstairs, even though it was only 7:15 and people were still in the school. I unhappily began to feel my way along the wall, unable to stop the hopeless despair that occasionally seemed to swallow me whole. I didn't feel ready for tears-- I rarely did-- but I did feel ready for something else. It was too dark, though, to even think about that.

Actually, considering how dark it was, it would be a miracle if I ever did find my locker. I had a vague idea of where I was, but every single cold locker felt the same to me, and I couldn't figure out which was mine. I made a desolate noise and sank to the floor, my back against the wall. What was the point? All I needed was my Biology book, really. Who cared if I failed Biology anyway? I wasn't going to get the part and I knew it. Failing Biology would be among the least of my problems, especially since I knew I was going to be stuck in the chorus again.

I closed my eyes for a moment, but as I did, a red light appeared behind my eyelids. My eyes fluttered open, only to focus on a small flame that seemed to be suspended in the air. I gasped loudly. Kellog's story of the ghost came rushing back into my head before I could stop it. Could it really be a ghost? No, it couldn't be-- Ghosts aren't real! I thought. But there it was, a flame suspended in midair.

"Do not be afraid," said a familiar voice. Why, I'd heard those exact words from that very voice-- It was the voice I'd heard in Lazerth's room during detention!

"You again!" I cried in a strangled voice. "Who are you?"

"You may call me your teacher," replied the voice, sounding pleased.

I realized that the flame was not suspended in midair after all. There was a body behind it, and from what I could gather, the voice was coming from behind the flame. I reached forward to touch whoever it was, but he backed away, avoiding my hand.

"You will suffer much disappointment at the hands of the fools who run my theater," he said softly, his voice surrounding me like a cold wind. "But I can teach you to be better than all of them. So much better that they will not be able to deny you your right any longer."

"What right?" I whispered unsteadily.

"Your right to sing upon my stage!" he laughed. His cackling sliced right through my body, cold like a piece of ice. "I will not force you. I will simply offer my knowledge to you. You may not be the ambitious type... After all, that can be very unbecoming in ladies..."

Hot anger swept through my veins, dispelling any cold fear I had felt previously. "I'm more ambitious than most people I know! And I really could care less about being a lady!"

"Then what do you say, my ingenue? Shall we train?"

I had no idea what had come over me. I was talking to a shadow of a man, to someone who might be a ghost or a flame or even just a whacked-out custodian. But the way he had taunted me had struck me in the heart. Wasn't I ambitious enough to take any chance to be the best? Didn't I have the drive and the willpower to put myself into the hands of a complete stranger, all to become the best? Of course I did!

"Fine."

"I'll see you here at 7:00 tomorrow night. Not earlier, not later. 7:00 is when the lights go off, my ingenue."

And just like that, the flame was gone. But all of a sudden, the lights overhead flickered back on. I blinked several times, adjusting my eyes to the light. I realized that I had been in front of my own locker the entire time. I quickly unlocked it and found my Biology book.

Why my heart wasn't pounding, I didn't know. I had just made an exchange with a possible madman. But for what I was getting in return, it seemed worth it. Right then, just about anything would have seemed worth it. 


	4. Erik

The following day, I woke up at 6:20, tired and stiff. After I'd met up with the person I could only identify as the Opera Ghost, I'd fought with my father. As usual, it wasn't entirely pleasant. I had decided to take a soccer ball outside and vent my fury on it. I hadn't played soccer since the fall season, though, and my muscles knew that. But who cared about that now? I needed to get dressed.

I hopped out of bed, shivering from the cold. Throwing open my closet, I stared into its glorious messiness and wondered, what did one wear when meeting an Opera Ghost? Something sweet? Something sexy? Something old-fashioned? I shrugged to myself, wondering why I cared so much. After all, it was probably just a demented janitor who knew something about music. With this thought, I decided not to wear anything too provacative, lest he turn out to be a creepy old man. I pulled out a 40's style skirt that was, well, a little short, but not too short, and a high-necked red sweater. Red was my favorite color of all time, and I seemed to end up wearing it a lot more than other colors.

I slipped the sweater over my bare chest, feeling its itchy warmth spreading across my neck and shoulders. The skirt was tight in my waist-- I'd gained weight that year-- but somehow, I made it fit. Having to pull it higher up to the thinner part of my torso had made it a little indecently short. But I didn't care. It was too early to think about being decent or modest. Anyway, what could happen in the basement of a school? Surely nothing too horrible.

"Elizabeth, you're going to miss the goddammned bus," yelled my father up the stairs.

At a breakneck speed, I began to toss books, papers, pencils, and other important items of interest (such as pineapple-scented hand lotion) into my backpack. I wasn't afraid of my father, really, but I didn't feel like risking an explosion, especially not at 6:27 in the morning. Was I really that late? I didn't think I was, but I suppose I could've been mistaken...

As I ran downstairs and walked past my father, who was eating an apple at the counter, he spoke in the same harsh tones.

"You'll be home on the bus today, right? Callbacks are over."

"Er..." I hesitated. "Actually, I've got rehearsal tonight until 8:00."

"For WHAT?" he snapped.

"Choir." My, was I a cool liar.

A heated argument ensued, mostly involving my father yelling about the worthlessness of music as well as the worthlessness of my pursual of it. I could record exactly what words passed between us, but it still hurts too much to think about. That morning, I left the house with tears rolling down my cheeks. I hated it when I cried, because I did it so rarely, that, when I did cry, the emotional exhaustion was body-breaking. I'd never cried over a bad grade or a broken heart, though my heart had been broken once or twice. My father, however, had the power to turn me into a total child. But mostly I tried not to cry. I was often tempted, but I rarely took the bait.

Once at school, I headed straight to my locker without stopping to socialize with anyone I knew. Frankly, my mood was strange that day. I'd just fought with my father, I had no chance at getting a part in the musical, Sean Winters was dating a talentless senior with legs like toothpicks, and that night, I was meeting an Opera Ghost. Admittedly, the last part wasn't so bad... It would actually probably be slightly interesting, if the Opera Ghost did not turn out to be a rapist. Still, I was in no mood to entertain any of my friends. Especially not Amy, who was unfortunately coming down the hall just as I'd decided I wanted to be alone.

"Oh ELIZABETH!" she cried once I was in earshot. "You were so good at callbacks yesterday... They HAVE to give you the part. I mean, you were making a really weird face when you sang-- You kind of always do that, no offense-- and Yeah, Jessica Klein is really good at acting, but I mean-- For Sarah Brown, who needs to ACT? It's about the voice. And you have that voice. Wasn't it funny when you read with Sean Winters though? I thought I'd die!"

"Hilarious," I commented softly.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? You left in such a hurry yesterday. I think Sean was looking for you, too, but you seemed so upset I told him not to bother. Actually, I would've told him not to bother even if you WEREN'T upset because really, I don't think you should be messing around with him. He's not a nice guy and anyway, don't you have a boyfriend? How IS he, by the way? You never even talk about him anymore!"

"God, Amy!" I spat suddenly. "Do you ever shut the hell up?"

Her eyes widened even more than usual as she stared into my flaming pupils. Though I knew I was being more than a bit harsh, I thought that if I hadn't yelled at her to stop, I would've hit her instead. She was so incredibly naive and frankly, I'd reached the end of my tether. Sighing resignedly, I picked up my backpack and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Amy exclaimed.

She reached out and grabbed me by the left wrist, hard. I winced visibly, quickly withdrawing my arm from her grasp.

"Ow," I said softly.

"What is it?" She stared at me quizically.

I grinned impishly. "Nothing, nothing at all. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"But why--" Her eyes then suddenly glowed with understanding. "Oh, I get it."

She winked at me. I raised an eyebrow in return. Why was she staring at me so? Then I realized that she was looking at me, but not really seeing me-- She was seeing the person behind me. My heart sank. I'd been caught. I whirled around, only to find myself face-to-face with Larry, my oh-so-charming and oh-so-boring boyfriend.

"Excuse us," he said in his nervous, high-pitched voice, looking over at Amy and nodding.

"Er, ah, hi," I managed to say before he could speak. "I meant to call you last night, after I-- but I had a lot of Biology work to do, especially since today is--"

"Look, I need to talk to you." Larry stared at me intensely, his turquoise eyes radiating with both affection and disappointment. It was those eyes that had first led me to believe that anything other than boredom could exist in this relationship. "You never call me, you never talk to me in the halls anymore... What's going on? Is it something I did? Did I do something to upset you?"

"No, no, no," I laughed, my cheeks burning with scarlet. "Nothing, nothing you did. I've just been busy, that's all."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that the only thing he did to make me lose interest was... well... nothing.

"I feel like you've been so distant lately. We haven't hung out properly in weeks, and we've never even..." It was his turn to blush. "We've never even kissed."

"I've just been busy, Larry. I swear. It's not you. I'll try to be more attentive." I gave him my most winning smile and then leaned upwards and kissed him on the cheek.

That little kiss was enough to reassure him for a week at least. Already, the red was gone from his cheeks and was replaced with more of a pinkish glow.

"So, do you want to take a walk around the grounds?" he asked shyly.

"Take a walk around the grounds" was Madison High speak for "Want to go under the bleachers and make out?" As I stared into his eager face, I realized that I... I just couldn't do it. I didn't like kissing that much that I'd do it with just anyone. I'd actually only kissed two boys, and they'd never really inspired me very much. I enjoyed kissing Sean now and then, but mostly because I was addicted to the excitement of doing something "wrong." It never made me ache with sexual longing, not in the way ridiculous porno-type books described. It was more of a, "Wow, I'm kissing someone, how great is this?" Right then, I wasn't about to give up the third kiss of my life to an overeager schoolboy.

"Maybe... maybe tomorrow," I said, laughing lightly. Before he could respond, I turned and walked in the opposite direction. I knew I'd pass Amy on the way back, but it wouldn't be so bad... Maybe if I was lucky, I could convince her to come upstairs and let me try out my latest lockpicking technique on the auditorium doors. One day, we'd break into that auditiorium. And when we did, there'd never be any going back.

"You are late."

"It's 6:59!" I exclaimed, pointing at my watch in protest. A second later, I realized how incredibly stupid this was, considering that the Opera Ghost and I were immersed in complete darkness.

"My watch says 7:01. Therefore, you are late. Is there to be any further argument?"

For a moment, I was almost inclined to turn and run back up the stairs, but after I'd calmed down a bit, I realized that he was making some sort of joke. I laughed nervously. "You are teasing me," I said.

"If you are as apt in music as you are in social skill, then your genius will soon surpass even mine," laughed the Opera Ghost. I took comfort in noticing that his laughter was much less harsh tonight... It was almost sweet and boy-like, as compared to the maniacal quality it had taken on just the night before.

"Let us begin. I am not fully aware of your talents, and so, consider this your trial training session. If I find you completely inadequate, then I'm afraid I will be unable to train you with any real enthusiasm. Sing an E flat scale, if you will."

His words stung me slightly. Completely inadequate? Had he not heard me sing before? Why would he have offered to train me if he were not sure that I had at least some talent? Out of the darkness came the E flat from a pitch pipe, and so I had no more time to contemplate these questions. I sang it obediently and as perfect technically as I could.

"Continue."

"What do you mean?" I breathed.

"The second octave, my dear."

I swallowed nervously. I'd heard more seasoned singers than myself who were unable to hit an E flat above high C. Still, not wanting to disappoint my new teacher, I remembered all I could about breath support and just went for it. Though I hit the note, it was not pretty. Then again, I didn't expect it to be.

"Your upper range is disgustingly untrained," the Opera Ghost said, sounding disappointed. "Have you never had lessons?"

"I took them for about a year, but my father made me stop," I replied, my voice shaking.

"I see," he said softly. "Ah, well, you are young yet, I suppose. Now, let me hear you sing a song. What is your favorite song?"

"'On My Own'," I cried eagerly. "I love it more than any song I've ever heard."

There was a brief silence. I'd thought for a moment that he might have left, but then he spoke. "From Les Miserables?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you know of it."

"Of course I know of it. Every female singer, good or bad, young or old, feels that, when they are singing 'On My Own' that they are again a 17-year-old girl wandering the streets of Paris searching for true love. Meanwhile, they fill my precious auditorium with noises that would be better made by a dying cat."

"Oh. Er. I take it you're not a fan, then?" I breathed deeply.

"Again, your social astuteness does you great credit." I could almost hear him grinning as he spoke those words. "Tell me, do you like anything that is a little less... contemporary?"

"I AM a fan of Puccini, but I try to keep that to myself," I admitted, hoping that he would not humiliate my taste in music again. "But if you aren't..."

"Ah, finally, we find common ground! Sing for me. 'O Mio Babbino', I presume?"

"Of course!" I smiled, pleased that he could be so well-acquainted with one of my secretest passions. Breathing deeply, I opened my mouth wide and allowed the Puccini aria to flow from my mouth. When I had finished, the Opera Ghost was silent. Then, I heard his breath catch slightly in his throat-- If that was possible for a ghost.

"You have potential."

"That's all?" I didn't bother to hide my disappointment.

"What would you have me say? That you are perfect, in no need of training, a complete genius? You know this is untrue," he laughed. Just then, a light flickered on overhead. "I will not flatter you as the rest of this school does."

I stared into the shadows made on the wall by the sudden appearance of the light. Against the peeling paint was an image of a human of almost unnatural proportions; he was tall and well-structured, but he seemed so thin that a sudden breeze might blow him away. A long cape reaching his mid-calves hung around his neck, and while I would normally find this strange, I couldn't help but feel that it fit him perfectly. Without warning, the actual man himself stepped out of the shadows and into the eerie light. His hair was blacker than any I'd ever seen and across his face was a mask.

I sucked in a gasp of air very suddenly. "Who... who are you?" I stammered.

"You may call me Erik," he said simply. "We have much work to do. Let us begin." 


	5. Letters from OG

A few days later, the Guys and Dolls cast list was posted.

"I can't believe it!" squealed Jessica Klein, jumping up and down and allowing herself to be hugged by her gracious fans. "I just can't believe it! Me, Sarah! In my senior year!"

I stared blankly down the hall. I couldn't see her face-- if only my mother would let me get glasses-- but I could hear her piercing shrieks loud and clear. I felt as if I had a stone in my stomach. She just didn't have the voice. She didn't have the voice! But it was written plainly on the wall: Jessica Klein would be playing Sarah Brown. Sighing wearily, I slowly began to make my way towards the choir room. I figured I might as well find out if I'd even been given a menial role. As I trudged past hordes of rejected chorus girls (most of whom were sobbing and holding each other), I felt someone brush roughly past my shoulder. A quick glance told me it was Sean.

"Sean. Sean!" I called after him. He didn't see you, I reassured myself mentally, but my heart had already begun to throb painfully in my chest.

"Oh. Hey there, sweetie. Can't really talk. I'll... uh... yeah." He nodded uncomfortably, then made quick strides down the hall. He paused when he reached Jessica Klein, who screamed excitedly at the sight of him and then proceeded to place a fat kiss on his lips. Sean didn't seem to mind.

"Tough luck, eh?"

I turned my head to see the tear-streaked face of Amy May. She sighed unhappily, then put her hand on my shoulder to guide me towards the cast list.

"It's not that I expected anything, of course... I'm not even a senior... But still, you know, you start talking yourself into thinking you're actually quite good..." A stifled sob escaped her throat. She put her hand over her mouth as if to choke it. "Excuse me. Composure, Amy. Composure."

"You saw the list already? It was only posted ten minutes ago. I ran all the way up here as soon as I heard it'd been posted," I explained. "Funnily enough, I didn't even need to check it to know that... Well." I shrugged.

"I haven't seen it, but Ashley Glaub just ran through the junior hallway screaming, 'A person can develop a cold!' with a crowd of adoring admirers in her wake." Amy scowled bitterly. "She lacks tact, that one."

We paused in front of the choir room, where the cast list of doom was posted. Fortunately, Jessica Klein and her groupies had moved a few yards down the hall, much to our appreciation. My name wasn't even typed-- It was handwritten, as if I'd been completely forgotten and then added at the last minute. Next to it was the word "missionary." My eyes fell on Amy's name, next to which the name "Mimi" was typed. I laughed ruefully.

"At least you got a part," I said, smirking.

"Oh, don't I feel blessed," retorted Amy sharply. "I believe I have one line."

"There are no small parts, only small actors," I recited.

"Shut up before I hit you," snapped Amy good-naturedly. She paused, then added, "Where were you last night, by the way? I needed help with the Bio worksheet."

"Ah. I... uh... voice lesson," I managed to say.

"Aren't you lucky!" Amy stepped back and stared at me, smiling widely. "I thought your dad said you weren't allowed anymore! Where are you taking them?"

"Um... Here." I coughed suddenly. "I mean, in town."

"Any name I might know? A lot of people in our school go to Mrs. Tanner."

"I don't think you'd know him," I said quickly.

"A he? Ooh! Is he cute?" Her eyes sparkled curiously.

"I... I don't know. I mean, he's older." I could feel my cheeks reddening. How much longer would this go on before she noticed I was lying-- or at least not fully telling the truth?

"What a disappointment," giggled Amy. "What a perfect love story that'd be... Student, teacher, forbidden love... It sounds like a story YOU might write for the school literature magazine."

"Haha." I laughed weakly. "So, uh, how about that Jessica Klein?"

"Total beotch. Hey, it's Larry! Let's go say hello! Cry a bit, then maybe he'll comfort you about not getting the part! Wouldn't that be adorable?"

For once, I allowed myself to be dragged in the direction of my boyfriend. Anything that took Amy's mind away from my voice teacher-- the opera ghost-- was to be considered good, at least for now. I wasn't sure why I didn't just tell her the truth, except that maybe I thought she wouldn't believe me. No, it wasn't just that... It was that I didn't want anyone to know about my opera ghost. I already thought myself at least half-insane for listening to someone I did not know. Not only that, but something about meeting an opera ghost felt special and private... Something that was hopefully reserved only for me.  
Rehearsal ensued the following day. Since I was cast as a missionary and Amy as a hotbox dancer, it quickly became clear that we would be separated almost every rehearsal. This immediately cast a gloomy shadow over the musical for me. I mean, it was bad enough that I didn't get the part I thought I at least deserved somewhat. It was also bad enough that I had to stare at Sean Winters and Jessica Klein drooling into each other's laps every day for the next six weeks. But to be separated from Amy on top of it all? It couldn't be borne.

Amy pretended to cry in a melodramatic fashion when I told her that I wouldn't be able to stand the musical without her. I grumbled and pushed her off as soon as she took to sobbing heavily on my shoulder. It was fine enough for her-- She was outgoing to the point of being occasionally obnoxious, and already three sophomore chorus girls were following her around as if she were Jesus. I couldn't help but be quiet around people I didn't know well. I always felt like strangers might be taken aback by my quirky jokes and ability to make uncannily realistic animal noises. Consequently, I was often described as "stand-offish," but it wasn't like I wanted to be that way. That's why I needed Amy to help me loosen up.

My luck had gone sour, though, and after being handed the rehearsal schedule, it was clear that the only time Amy and I would be seeing each other was during the last couple of weeks right before the show, when full run-throughs took place. To my grim satisfaction, Sean had not been granted the role of Sky, so he and Jessica would be duly separated. The boy who had been given Sky was a cute freshman who was dating a girl in my Biology class. I couldn't help but be slightly cheered by this. He would be enjoyable to watch, even if I never had the opportunity to stage-kiss him.

The rehearsal commenced with its usual first-rehearsal charm, with lots of administrative tasks being explained and pounded to death. Some of the missionaries were expected to provide their own costumes, and most of the boys had to find their own suits. We were also finally allowed to use the state-of-the-art dressing rooms in the basement underneath the theater, much to everyone's surprise and approval. Each person was going to be allowed their own compartment (for storing stage makeup or whatever else could fit in the small locked box) and mirror. We were all very eager to run downstairs and see these dressing rooms, as they'd been off-limits to students for years. However, Miss Lazerth was not finished, and the more harassed she became with our behavior, the longer it took for her to finish announcements.

"I trust you will all welcome back our costume designer, Ms. Evelyn Mias-- Miss Chang, will you PLEASE get off Mr. Guarini's lap and try to listen-- I also expect that you--"

But before she could finish her sentence, she was cut off by a murmuring cry of excitement from the students in the audience. I had been sneaking a few pages of Pride and Prejudice, and I didn't notice right away what everyone was looking at. As soon as I looked up, though, I realized that the cry was caused by an unusual occurrence-- A letter in a yellowed envelope had just fluttered from the rafters onto the stage, landing right at Miss Lazerth's feet. My heart stopped in my chest. Was it from-- No, don't be silly, I scolded myself. He has nothing to do with this. It's probably just an old prop from another show or something, though why it would be up in the rafters... I shook my head. There was no use in speculating, I decided.

Miss Lazerth was all business. She bent over, scooped up the letter, skimmed its contents, and quickly pocketed it.

"Settle down! Settle down, or I'll reconsider allowing your use of the dressing rooms!" she hollered. For such a small, frail-looking woman, she certainly had quite a pair of lungs.

We immediately fell silent. The rehearsal ended with a hearty group sing of the finale of the show.

"That was disgusting," Miss Lazerth commented with an amusing candor. "Thank God we have six weeks. Come up as I call your name and collect the keys to your dressing room compartment."

When she got to "Elizabeth Mayers," I scrambled onto the stage and happily accepted my key. Though I currently hated her for having not casted me properly, I decided a little performance of "overeager student" wouldn't hurt. I smiled broadly, my turquoise eyes nervously flicking upwards. To my surprise, she didn't even attempt to smile back. If anything, her look was all disapproval.

"I'll need to speak to you after I'm finished here," she said lowly.

"Of course," I whispered, my throat suddenly very dry.

"Good," she replied, her steely eyes glinting. She ignored me as she yelled out, "John Mayson!"

Amy and I scuttled down to the basement, clutching our keys in our sweaty palms. I was bursting to tell her what had just happened with Miss Lazerth, but something made me keep my mouth shut. Anyway, I didn't want to look like I was constantly getting in trouble. I had never been in any real trouble with a teacher before, but it seemed as if every time I crossed Miss Lazerth's path, I ended up in a detention chair.

With bated breath, I swung the door to the dressing room open, with Amy in tow. Instead of the red-carpeted, luxurious performer's paradise I had been expecting, it was a cold, spacious room that reminded me of the gym lockerroom, except that there were long lines of counters with individual mirrors hanging on the walls. In the counters were small drawer-like boxes with keyholes. They, too, added to the lockerroom air; they had small, bent openings to provide for ventilation, just as a regular high school locker would have. On the opposite side of the dressing room was a small venue that lead to a room that was identical to every girl's bathroom in the school. Well, so much for glamour, I thought.

"What's your number?" Amy asked, a similar look of disappointment on her face.

"46. I'm right after you, stupid," I told her.

We ran down the rows of mirrors until we found numbers 45 and 46. For the heck of it, we both decided to open our compartments.

"Oh, isn't that sweet! Do you have one as well?" Amy was holding a white folded piece of paper in her hand.

"Yeah, I've got one." I pulled it out and read it.

Dear Elizabeth,  
Congratulations on making the musical! I look forward to working with you for the next few weeks. Your first singing rehearsal is on March 26th. See you then!

Affectionately,  
Mr. Fitzwilliam

"He is VERY sweet," I said, smiling fondly.

"He signed yours 'affectionately?' I only got a 'yours truly,'" exclaimed Amy, snatching my letter out of my hand. "Are you two having an affair?"

"Amy, don't be--" I stopped cold.

At the bottom of my drawer was another letter, one I hadn't noticed before. It was in a yellowed envelope, just like the one that had fallen from the rafters during Miss Lazerth's speech. Before Amy noticed, I quickly snatched it out of the drawer and shoved it into my copy of Pride and Prejudice. To my relief, she was so annoyed that she'd only been dealt a "yours truly" that she didn't notice.

"I mean, honestly! I come to rehearsal on time more often than you do. You're NEVER on time. Why does he like you so much? Not that you know, you don't have good qualities," she added quickly, noticing the look on my face. "But I have every right to an 'affectionately' as you do!"

"'Course you do. I'm going to the bathroom. Be right back," I said, turning around and locking myself into a stall before she could reply.

I didn't bother to sit down; I was shaking too much, anyway. I tore the envelope open with trembling hands. Inside was a similarly yellowed piece of parchment. Across it were long lines of flowy writing

My dear ingénue,

I know that I promised to see you tonight, but it seems I have another engagement. Forgive me. Can we meet tomorrow, instead?

Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,  
O.G.

"Elizabeth? Are you okay in there?"

"Fine," I breathed, stuffing the letter back in the envelope. "I'm... fine."

As I opened the stall, Amy said, "Annie Chang just told me to tell you that Miss Lazerth was looking for you."

"Oh... yes," I mumbled absentmindedly. "Excuse me..."

"Are you all right?" Amy asked, looking alarmed.

"I'm fine. Fine." I pushed past her to the door. As soon as I'd made my escape, I practically sprinted upstairs to the stage.

Miss Lazerth's eyes narrowed when she saw me. "Ah. Elizabeth. Come here."

"Yes?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"As you may have noticed, a letter fell from the rafters. I would normally not bother to share with you its contents, but you have been mentioned several times. Read it for yourself." She shoved the letter at me.

My dear Evelyn,

I congratulate you on the start of musical season. Undoubtedly you'll put on a show with all the sparkle and magnificence that is expected of you from the community, though it seems that you have banked on a few children with less than promising talent. I could grudge you Ashley Glaub, for her ability to be perfectly blonde, but I cannot agree with your casting of Jessica Klein in such a delicate soprano role as Sarah. As you well know, her acting is overwrought and her voice is comparable to a toad's. I admit I expected better of you, Evelyn.  
Having recently taken Miss Elizabeth Mayers into my studio, I have noticed her unusual vocal talent as well as her potential for an improvement in her acting skill. I suggest you give her the proper recognition she deserves if you wish to be remembered as one of the finest directors my theater has ever known.  
Of course, it is your decision, but I do rather like it when my theater puts on reasonably good productions. It is probably too late, and to take back any casting decisions at this point would cause uproar from the parents. Still, I strongly suggest that you give Miss Elizabeth more credit than you have been. You are no more blind to her talent than I, and denying her right to glory is an injustice for which I cannot stand.  
I look forward to the upcoming rehearsals, and I ask that you remind the stagehand Mr. Hockman that my salary is due at the end of the month. I know it is a little premature, but I expect that Box Five will be reserved for me on the weekends of the musical, as it has always been in the past.

Your Humble and Obedient Servant,  
O.G.

The letter fluttered from my hands to the floor.

"You are finished, I presume," Miss Lazerth remarked coldly. "Now, tell me, have you been seeing this boy?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Miss Lazerth," I replied softly.

"Don't play games with me, Miss Mayers!" she snapped suddenly. "This is a serious matter! He has never spoken to one of my students before, and I intend to keep it that way. Are you actually taking lessons with him?"

"I do not know who 'he' is, so I guess not," I lied.

"'He' is a boy named Erik DuBois, and he went to school here several years ago. I know he still lurks around this theater, though he has not so boldly made his presence known for quite some time. I have called the police on various occasions to rid the school of him, but when the police arrived, all they found was an empty theater. Eventually, they refused to take my calls." She paused, staring up at the rafters as if expecting another letter to fall. Then, she turned back to me, her eyes flaming. "I warn you, Miss Mayers. He is a murderer, and from what I know of him, deranged. If you do happen across him, I suggest-- no, I insist-- you notify me immediately."

"Yes, Miss Lazerth," I murmured compliantly.

She bent over to pick up the letter, then sighed wearily. As she looked up at me, I noticed that the anger was gone from her eyes... It was replaced with something like pity.

"I hope you do the right thing for yourself, Elizabeth," she said quietly, then turned and left, leaving me alone on the stage. 


	6. The Pier

At the time I thought I was doing the right thing. I guess I don't really know, now. I only knew that I was doing all I could to serve my first love: music. I was taking serious risks, but I didn't know it at the time. I just thought I was being adventurous. I didn't know what kind of line I'd crossed. I was too naive to know. 

The days began to turn into weeks, and before long, musical season was in full swing. I found it easier to make excuses to not be at home anymore, and one particular night, I decided to just stay after school until 7:30 instead of going home and coming back. I told my dad that I had rehearsal again, and though he was angry, he believed me. It wasn't that my phantom was planning to see me anytime before seven, but I didn't want to go home. Things at home were worse than I could ever remember them being before. They were even worse than before my mom left.

When I was younger-- say, eight or so-- my parents were the best people in the world. They loved each other. They would kiss in front of me, sometimes for a minute or so at a time. I used to gag and make faces, but I liked it, as strange as that sounds. It was the way I knew that they still were mad about each other; it was the way I knew that our family wasn't falling apart. A lot of my friends in elementary school had divorced parents. I used to think that having divorced parents would be the worst thing in the world.

After my tenth birthday, things started to change. My dad started to work a lot more, since he was up for partner at the law firm he worked for. My mom used to complain that he was never home with us, even though I'd begun to notice that she made lots of excuses not to be home, either. They hired a babysitter named Mary would used to stay with me after school and drive me to soccer. I liked Mary, but she used to make comments that suggested that my parents wouldn't be together much longer. Not only did I think she was insensitive, but I thought she was wrong, and I told her so. Then, one night, I was in bed when I was awoken by shouting from downstairs. It was about two in the morning. I crept to the top of the stairs to listen. I heard everything. My dad calling my mom a slut, my mom calling my dad a workaholic who didn't give a crap about this family... My mom saying that she'd found someone who actually would care about her, that she'd found someone who still was interested in someone other than himself. It finally ended when the door slammed and my dad started crying. I only realized I was shaking after it was all over. I didn't cry that night. I just crept back into bed and tried to fall asleep, though the effort was futile.

The next day, my dad left the house early in the morning. My mom came over to pack her things, but she stopped to talk to me, too.

"I love you, Lizzy. This has nothing to do with you. Your father--" She never used to call Daddy that-- "Will take good care of you. We'll see each other on holidays and weekends, even. I won't be far. Things will be just the same as they always were, except that you'll have two houses instead of one. Won't that be fun?"

"You love him more than you love us?" I said dryly. In the absence of parents, I'd begun to develop an attitude. Mary never bothered to try to keep my snideness in check.

"Don't say that. It's not true." She reached out and tried to ruffle my hair, but I jerked away. "Oh Lizzy, my Lizzy," she cried helplessly. "Don't make this worse than it is"

"There'd be nothing to make worse if you weren't already leaving," I replied.

"Lizzy," she said pleadingly.

"My name's Elizabeth," I snapped.

When I could help it, I never allowed anyone to call me anything but Elizabeth since.

My father began drinking pretty soon after that. I didn't really care; he wasn't violent when he drank-- if anything, it mellowed him out a bit and made him less irritable. I tried to comfort him the best I could, but I was a living reminder of the woman who'd left him. It wasn't even that I looked anything like her-- I'd inherited all my looks from my dad-- but I'd grown up in the same house as her, and I had all the same mannerisms, habits, and nuances. Sometimes when I'd come to kiss my dad goodnight, I could smell the whisky on his hot breath, and he'd mumble, "Aw, Janice, going to bed so soon? Won't you wait up for me?" I always left quickly after that. I would become afraid sometimes that he'd forget himself.

When I hit 14, my dad suddenly straightened out for no apparent reason. He joined AA and started dating again. He'd never really settled down with another woman, but I was glad to see that at least he had something of a life back. Yeah, I was glad, until it started affecting me. Because he'd straightened out, he decided that I had to straighten out, too. It's not that I really needed any straightening out-- I was a good kid, not to mention pretty smart, and I got okay grades, though I didn't consider myself anything of a scholar. I never really worked to my full potential, mostly because I was too busy writing or reading or singing. I thought subjects like Biololgy and Math were too boring to be bothered with, so I scraped by with B's and the occasional B minus. After my dad was almost finished with the program, though, he decided that this wasn't good enough. It came as something of a shock. I came home on the bus as usual when I noticed that my dad was standing at the door, waiting for me. He had my report card in his hand. I didn't understand why he looked so angry. It was only the second trimester in my freshman year of high school, and he'd never cared about grades before, anyway. Unless I'd actually failed a subject, I didn't see why he'd be upset about my grades.

"Elizabeth, this is unacceptable," he told me as I came through the door. "I received your report card today, and I noticed that you had two B's."

"That's not bad," I said weakly, bewildered by his sudden change of attitude.

"Not bad? Not bad is for losers," he hissed through his yellowed teeth. "Don't you care about your future? Don't you want to be successful? Don't you want to strive for the best?"

"But I--"

"I don't want to hear excuses. You're grounded until you can prove that you can concentrate more effectively on your studies." He paused, then continued the sentence. "I think that, since you've already displayed enough irresponsibility, I will have to cancel your piano lessons."

"Dad, I need those," I exclaimed, my face paling. "I've got a solo in the next concert, and I'll never get it right if I don't have--"

"Don't argue with me. If you were as good at arguing as you are at studying, maybe you wouldn't be in the place you are now. Get upstairs and open a book." He ripped the report card in two and left it lying at my feet.

From then on, school came first. If I came home with anything less than an A, I was grounded and certain privelages were slowly taken away... Art lessons, books, time out with my friends. Singing was the last thing to be touched. My dad knew how I felt about my singing. I thought that maybe his heart had made him decide not to take away the one thing I loved the most. I thought.

It was my own fault, really. Mid sophomore year, I snuck off campus to go to the coffeeshop down the street during school hours. I was caught, of course, and I received three after school detentions for it. Because the crime was considered somewhat serious, I had to get a note signed by my dad that informed him of the misdemeanor. I remember being a little scared, but I was completely unprepared for the reaction I got.

"Elizabeth," he breathed as he read the note, "I want you to pick up the phone and tell your voice teacher this very moment that you've decided that you don't like singing anymore. Go on. Pick up the phone. I'll watch you."

"Dad, please," I begged. "I'm sorry. It's not that huge of a deal. I won't do it again."

"Pick up the phone!" he snapped, leaning against the counter.

So I did. My voice teacher almost cried, saying that I had such an unusual talent, that I was the only one of her students that she could see actually making it in the business someday. I almost cried, too, but I managed to keep my voice steady and calm. I had to learn to not cry, I decided. That type of weakness wasn't going to help matters, especially not anymore.

After I hung up the phone, my father said, "Go to your room. I don't want to see you again for a week."

He locked the door behind me. It was open when I woke up, but I did as my father said and stayed out of sight for the rest of the week. As the years went on, I became desperate. Isn't that what creates these types of situations? Desperation? It was impossible to recognize at the time. Either way, I became desperate for something that offered happiness. Very little could make me happy anymore. Choir was pretty much the only source of music I had left. I had friends, too, but they could never fully know me without knowing what made me come to school with that vacant expression. They would never know because I would never tell them.

I spent the first half hour after school in the basement near my locker, sitting and going over my Biology notes. It was rainy and dark, but the fluorescent lights over head offered at least a bit of light. It had only been 45 minutes or so that I'd been studying, and already I was becoming bored. I couldn't focus very well on schoolwork, especially not lately. For a moment, I yawned and closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cold metal of the red lockers. Then, without warning, I heard the traditional electric buzz that accompanied the flickering of the hallway lights. He was here. It was early, though; we usually did not meet until 6:30 at the earliest.

For some reason, my heart began to race. I was excited that he was here. Something about him warped my mind; I found him like a drug, addictive and intoxicating. I found that he occupied my thoughts long after our sessions had ended... In fact, he was just about all that occupied my mind anymore. Even my friends began to notice how moony and dazed I'd become lately. Amy was short-tempered with me, and Sean had begun to try to get me to notice him again. When he came over to wrap his arms around my shoulders and be the flirtateous moron he is, I caught myself wishing I still got excited when he paid attention to me. But I couldn't care anymore... Not when I had an opera ghost who I found infinitely more interesting. As for Larry... I avoided him as much as I could, though I began to wish that he'd just break up with me and save me a lot of trouble.

A candle flickered to life down the hall. I leapt up from the floor, my Biology notes immediately forgotten. My heart was thumping painfully in my throat, but I didn't care. The man-- or ghost-- or whoever, whatever this thing was-- was here. My master was here to instruct me.

"Hello, Erik," I said shyly. For good measure, I added, "Sir."

"My ingenue," he replied. I couldn't help but notice how warm his voice had grown towards me since the beginning of our acquaintance. I also couldn't help but notice that despite this warmth his voice still made me shiver slightly. "I didn't expect you to be here so early."

"I thought I could get some more work done here than at home," I said simply.

There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again. "I see. I don't wish to start your training so early, though... It is harmful for such a young voice to train so intensely for so many hours."

"Well, I can go back to work or something..." I faltered.

"No," he replied thoughtfully. "There's no need for that. Perhaps..." He hesitated. "I've been wishing to speak with you more. Of course we should not grow too close, because that's unseemly for a teacher and a pupil, but we have never just... spoken."

My heart leapt. I had been dying to ask him a thousand questions from the first moment I'd met him. Things like, who are you? Why are you here? Are you human or spirit? Are you the boy that Miss Lazerth talked about? Does that mean you're a murderer? Why did you kill someone? Will you kill me? Why do you wear that mask? Can I see your face? Why do you train me? Do you...

"Would you like, then, to go for a walk around the grounds?"

Without warning, I burst into laughter. I knew it was immature of me, but all I could think was, my opera ghost was asking if I'd like to make out under the bleachers.

"Why are you laughing at me?" he snapped. I could tell from his voice that he was frowning.

"It's just... in school... People say that when..." I tried to control myself, but I was already too excited and giddy. I doubled up in laughter.

"Silly girl," he sneered. "Come on. Let's go."

My laughing ceased for a moment. "But it's raining!"

"I prefer the rain to sunlight," he replied coolly and without explanation.

He did not take my hand as I almost expected him to, but once we were outside, he took his billowy black cloak and wrapped half of it over my shoulders so to shelter me from the rain. I'd never been this close to him before, and in spite of myself, it made me feel even gigglier than I did before. I was trying to control myself, though, because I could tell my high girlish spirits irritated him. There wasn't much light outside, but there was more than I'd ever had with him. I noticed that his face was almost entirely covered by the mask, except for his lips, which were, for lack of a better word, sloppy, though overall they were straight and full. Still, there was something about his upper lip that faded to the left, and his lower lip was slightly too big as compared to his upper lip. I didn't mind them, though. They were very red-- redder than most men's lips. In spite of myself, I found myself wondering what they'd feel like on my mouth.

"These grounds are beautiful," he said once we'd begun to lap around the school. "I remember when this school was not even a school, but a center for the performing arts."

"Did you train there?" I asked eagerly.

"No, I would have been too young. I just remember." He stared out over the grass field, raindrops dewing the mask. "Come, let us go on the pier."

He was referring to the delapidated wooden pier that stretched into the river that bordered the school. It was so old that, even ten years ago, two kids were swept upstream after some of the planks gave way beneath them. My breath caught in my throat. I did not want to go there. It was cold and windy on that pier, and anyway, I'd never been that close to the river before. Something about its vastness frightened me. It was not a friendly little stream like most towns had, but rather, a huge, rushing body of water.

"Students aren't allowed," I muttered, resisting his push forward.

"I am not a student; I am a teacher. And you are my student, and right now, I say that it is allowed." He smiled crookedly and pulled me with him. He was surprisingly strong for a man with such a thin frame.

"Please," I gasped as he steered me towards the river. "I'm scared."

He stopped for a moment. "Good. That is what I was hoping for." Again, his strong grasp led me towards the river.

"You want me to be scared?" I exclaimed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Most teachers I know wouldn't want their own student to be scared."

"This is a little exercise that I myself have practiced. Come, step up. Don't step on that dark brown plank; you will plunge into the river. That's right, the light one."

"It's raining," I mumbled. "Everything looks dark."

"Don't be so prissy, Elizabeth," he snapped suddenly. It was the first time in our acquaintance that he'd called me by name. "I won't let you die."

This was hardly a comforting though. I warily balanced myself on two "light"-looking planks, neither of which felt very secure. They tottered uneasily beneath the soles of my rain-soaked sneakers, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. My heart was racing uncomfortably in my throat, and for a moment, I grew dizzy as I watched the waters rushing over the meager four planks holding up the wooden pier.

"Please, Erik, I'm afraid!" I cried, swaying uneasily.

"You are in love," he said. "You are in love with someone-- Me, perhaps-- or anyone whom you choose to be in love with-- but you are in love, and you must tell me about it."

"What the heck?" I yelled, shivering nervously.

"Look at me!" he yelled back. "Look down at me and sing me your favorite love song. And when you sing it, be in love! Overcome your fear-- You are not on a plank about to plunge into a roaring river! You are somewhere else-- a meadow, a ship, a Juliette on her balcony! You are in love! Look at me and sing."

I turned and faced him slowly. His eyes were flaming with something between determination and insanity, and I did not wish to disobey him. I whimpered softly, then took a few deep breaths to prepare myself for the vocal attack. Finally, my vocal chords began to tremble and the first few notes of a familiar Rodgers and Hammerstein tune began to come out.

_"If I loved you,  
time and again  
I would try to say   
all I'd want you to know..."_

"Go on!" Erik roared, motioning wildly with his hands. "Keep singing, my Don Juanita! Sing on!"

I gasped and continued.

_"If I loved you,  
words wouldn't come in an easy way,  
'round in circles I'd go..."_

But he seemed dissatisfied. I tried to forget that I was standing on a pier on the edge of a river... I tried to pretend that I was in love. But it was too loud-- the water was crashing over the muddy soil, and the rain was pounding on my skin, and I could not imagine that anyone could be in love on such an ugly day. 

"Come down," he ordered.

He offered me his hand, which I accepted. He helped me onto the wet grass, then immediately let go of my hand. His black cloak billowed behind him as he stalked off, leaving me wet and shaking in the rain. Where was he going? Surely he was not that displeased as to leave me? I did not know if I should follow him or not. I did not want to risk his anger, but at the same time, I could not bear to watch him go.

"Where are you going?" I shouted, trotting after him. "Are you leaving me?"

"Don't be dramatic, my ingenue," he replied coldly, whirling around to face me. "I am merely displeased. I cannot train you while you are so obstinate."

"I don't know what you wanted me to do," I cried, my throat growing tight with pain. "I don't know how pushing me onto a dangerous pier and making me afraid helped my voice or--"

"This is not about your voice. You can sing, I can hear that. Anyone can heart that. Ms. Lazerth can hear that you can sing. But you are like an automaton-- You sing as if, when I switch a button on, you are a record. There is no life in your voice-- No shimmer of love, no gleam of hope. It sounds flat-- not literally in the musical sense-- but flat and dead as if it were coming from a corpse who had lost all sense of feeling. You will never be a great singer if you do not change. At least pretend that you feel something-- Love, or joy, or sadness, or anything." He broke off. Then he added in a strangled voice, "Do you even feel, my ingenue?"

I stared at him blankly. I had been insulted worse before-- my father had sowed insults into my mentality daily for years-- but this was different, because deep down, I knew what Erik had to say was true. After being called irresponsible and selfish for the thousandth time, the words lost their meaning. But here was my teacher, the enigmatic man or ghost or spirit that had promised to guide me into greatness, saying that I would never be great. My heart was suddenly grasped with a coldness that I had only known once before, with my father. I felt hatred.

"Goodbye." I wrapped my arms around myself and walked past him without meeting his eyes. I stared straight ahead at the brick building in front of me and moved towards it, just like-- as Erik had said-- an automaton.

"Where are you going?" he called after me.

"I'm disappearing," I replied.

I knew he was going to come after me. But I had not played soccer for eleven years for nothing. I slammed my feet into the wet grass and ran as fast as I could. I never wanted to see him again. At that moment, I hated him. I hated him even more than I hated myself.


	7. Across the Lake

Author's Notes: This whole fanfic has been tweaked and revamped a bit. Certain parts have been changed to keep our characters more "in character" and also to make sure the whole thing is a bit more realistic. I hope you enjoy the new chapter as well as the changes that have been made!

I refused to see the Opera Ghost for more than two weeks after that. It might have done me some good, too, because Mr. Fitzwilliam had been kind enough to award me two of Sarah Brown's sung lines in the song, "Follow the Fold." Jessica Klein was red with fury as he made this announcement, but Mr. Fitzwilliam had explained away his actions by insisting, "This is a high school musical and everyone deserves a chance to be a part of it." No one had questioned the obvious flaw in this statement: I was the only one favored with two solo lines. Though it was nothing compared to a real part, I was delighted by the special attention and wished there was some way I could thank Mr. Fitz for having been so kind. Instead, I played my usual part as the modest soprano, and merely inclined my head downwards and smiled prettily every time Mr. Fitzwilliam waved his baton to cue me into the song.

Miss Lazerth ignored me as usual, though she seemed to make no argument when she found me singing my two extra lines at the full rehearsal. Perhaps she was too preoccupied with the upcoming teaser, which was to be performed during the school day for all the teachers and all the students not involved in the musical. Only four scenes were presented, all of which were large and involved much of the cast. It was no surprise that Miss Lazerth was nervous; if the teaser was unsatisfactory, no one would be incensed to come and spend seven dollars on the show.

The night before the teaser was to come to pass, Miss Lazerth found herself satisfied with every scene except for one: The initial "Follow the Fold" scene. I could not see what there was to be displeased with: It was a boring, uncomplicated scene where the missionaries basically stood in a row and listened to Sarah Brown preach. Still, she drilled it over and over, dismissing the rest of the cast for the night and tormenting us until nearly eight at night. At last, she called us "hopelessly dull" and sent us on our way. I miserably made my tired way down to the dressing room to collect my books and leave.

I stayed long after the other girls left, unwilling to rush outside to my father's car, though I knew he would be angry at my dawdling. As I stood there, staring at my face in the mirror, I reflected on the past two weeks. They had been boring and listless, just like much of my life had been before the Opera Ghost. As my eyes flickered downwards to my black sneakers and then back up to my broad hips, I suddenly felt very common. Don't be stupid, I scolded myself internally. You had a little excitement with the unknown, and now you're back to real life. There's nothing boring about real life.

Still, I couldn't help but find myself hoping for the same electric buzzing noise; I couldn't help but wish I might have some sort of nocturnal visitor with a silky, cold voice and the same cold hands. Still, nothing came. I was going to turn away from the mirror, but something made me pause.

There he stood, masked and cloaked in the light. No mysterious candle, no flicker of the lights overhead-- Just him, with his sloppy red lips and jet black hair slicked neatly against his pale forehead. I did not know what to say. The last time I had left him, I had hated him with all my heart. Now, I only felt sorrow and remorse for the cold way in which I'd left him. I wanted him to take me in his bony arms and whisper into my ear that he still believed in my talent, that he still believed I could be more than just his "ingenue." I wanted him to believe that I really did feel things.

"Have you not missed your teacher?" he asked quietly.

I could hardly breathe. It was as if a cold hand had grasped me by the throat, making me unable to speak or even exhale. I wanted to badly to tell him how much I missed him, how much I needed him. I did not even know how much I needed him until he stood there before me, his customary black cape swaying like smoke around his ankles.

"Haven't you missed your pupil?" I retorted. I secretly hated myself for saying it, but I was afraid that if I tried anything but a hard attitude, I would break in two and throw myself helpless at his feet.

"I was hard on you, I realize." He did not look at me when he said this. "I forgot how upset young girls can become at even the slightest of criticism."

This did not sound like an apology to me. It sounded like the same cold sarcasm with which he had treated me with for most of our acquaintance. I did not want his sarcasm. I wanted him to tutor me with firm but gentle words-- I wanted him to admire me--Heck, why deny it? I wanted him to love me!

"I can feel," I said weakly, my voice cracking. "I feel more than you know. I feel-- And you wouldn't know-- You've never even-- You don't know!" I burst out suddenly. "You don't know how much I feel!" I turned from him, my eyes unexpectantly hot with tears. "Maybe I don't sing with love because I have never even been in love... And I certainly don't live in a perpetual state of happiness... I don't even feel sadness... I feel lost." I was feeling especially dramatic that day, so I added in a quiet voice, "I feel... death."

"You are too young to be saying things like that!" he replied, sounding stunned. "You are not even seventeen yet. How can someone so young have forgotten how to love, how to hope, how to live?"

"As if you're one to talk!" I snapped. I still could not face him. I did not want him to see my tears. I had never wanted anyone to see my tears.

"I have felt despair, this is true!" he said. "I have felt the same sadness you have-- I have felt, as you say, death! Sometimes, I feel it right behind every corner, I feel it knocking at my door, I feel it clutching my heart in its slimy fist! But I have not forgotten how to love... We are too human to ever forget how to love... Come to me, Elizabeth."

I stepped through the mirror as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hands were on my shoulders, and then my face was on his chest, and then his lips were on my forehead... My tears wet his crisp white shirt and he took pains to wipe my eyes against his collar, even though my black mascara stained the pristine whiteness of the fabric. Oh, how I wanted him at that very moment! I could overlook the fact that I had never beheld his face, or that his body was no more than pallid leathery skin stretched across a skeleton. I could still imagine our bodies moving together as one... I could imagine his icy cold hands finally turning to fire against my chest, tangled in my hair, or intertwined with my own soft pink hands... I would never tell him, or even take the initiative and kiss him, because I was still too virginal and afraid of things that seemed to me so adult and so dirty. I still remembered that sex had lowered my own mother to a common "slut" in my father's terms, not to mention torn our once-loving family apart. No, I could not love him as a woman yet, because I was still a girl!

"Come with me, my ingenue." His voice and manner changed suddenly, but I could still see the black marks from my eyes on his collar. "You have never seen my humble abode, and I wish that we visit it tonight, so that I may show you some of my music. Perhaps we can train there as well, though your eyes look glassy and your skin is hot and feverish. I am afraid all this excitement is making you ill."

"I feel fine," I told him, though honestly, my head was a little cloudy and my face felt very hot.

He took me by the hand and by some passageway connecting to the girl's dressing room, led me to the back entrance of the stage, where a long cement ramp led to the stage while another corridor led to the dressing rooms. I had been back here many times, lining up for choir or band concerts, but it was very dark right now and for some reason, everything seemed strange and foreign. At the base of the ramp, there was a tall gate leading into an impenetrable darkness. It had a large padlock on it and I honestly had never even observed what was behind the gate, because the backstage area was so often littered with ladders, old props, a horrifically out-of-tune piano, and even an old refridgerator from the 1950's that another random item such as a gate would have not really even caught my attention. But there we paused, and Erik produced a key from within his black cloak which he entered into the padlock. The gate only opened slightly, and Erik slipped through easily, but when it was my turn to come through, I found that there was simply too much of me and not enough space.

"I'm too fat," I mumbled embarassedly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I am too skinny." He pressed against the side of the gate gently and it creaked open a few more inches. I barely squeezed past, but somehow, I managed.

Once inside, he led me down a small set of stairs to a wide dirt path. I began to become afraid, since it was so dark and I could hardly see where I was walking. He took me by the hand and paused at the side of one wall to reach upwards with the other hand. I didn't know what he was doing at first, until a faint light came on, giving just enough light for my eyes to work properly. We walked for a short while, and then reached another small ledge which led to a much longer set of stairs. At this point, Erik reached his hand forward and pressed something on the doorway leading to the stairs, and at last, a decent amount of light entered my squinting eyes. Not letting go of my hand, he led me down the endlessly long stairwell, occasionally leading me around what looked like trap doors on random steps.

At the bottom of the staircase was a vast pit of blackness which I could not distinguish as floor or space. However, as Erik led me onto a small pier with a boat tied to one of the posts, I realized that we were coming upon an underground lake. He helped me step into the boat and then, taking a long staff laying inside the boat, he began to gently guide the boat towards its destination. I was horrified and amazed at the events transpiring; part of me was stunned by my willingness to creep underground with a virtual stranger, but another part of me was too fascinated to ever turn back. For a while I did not speak, instead using my eyes to try to distinguish my surroundings. It was rather useless, as there was not enough light to see much of anything.

"How is there a lake here?" I asked curiously.

"When this was exclusively an auditorium, the original plan was to make a hydraulic floor, but the organization ran out of money," he told me.

"I don't even know what a hydraulic floor is," I replied.

"It's a fancy feature of some auditoriums that allow for the stage to be more complex... It can even make the stage change height levels."

"That's insane," I murmured.

I looked up at him and I saw that his big lips were curved into a smile. It made my heart leap with something like happiness. Perhaps it is love, I thought dreamily.

We finally reached our dark destination, at which point he instructed me to remove my shoes and roll up my jeans. I didn't understand why until I stepped out of the boat into what seemed like the coldest water I had ever felt in my life. I cried out at the sudden shock of the cold and at the fact that my feet were sinking into a mud that felt as if it were crawling with life. Erik pulled on my hand, but I was frozen in place-- It was too cold and I hated the feeling of the mud around my ankles.

"Please, please, let me go back in the boat," I cried, trembling all over. "There are things on my feet."

"Nothing in this lake will hurt you," he assured me, pulling on my hand again.

"I can't!" Tears filled my eyes and I swayed uneasily.

For a moment, I thought I would faint. Erik must have noticed this and he did not hesitate to sweep me up into his arms, my feet dripping all over his tailored pants legs. He carried me to the shore and set me back down. I fell to my knees; my head was swimming and again I felt as if I would faint. At length I decided to busy myself with putting my socks and sneakers back on, but the task proved difficult, as my hands were shaking very badly.

"Are you so afraid?" Erik asked me.

"I'm confused," I said simply. It was true. My thoughts were racing too much for me to say much else.

"Come," he commanded. Again he took me by the hand, and I obeyed his movements.

He led me up a small dirt hill that abruptly turned into a room furnished with a foreign-looking rug, a large grand piano, several antique pieces of furniture, and a large library of books. After having been in the dark for a half hour or so, the light inside the room was dazzling. Still sensing my shakiness, he led me to one of the couches and had me sit down. On the mahogany table in front of me, there was a vase of large white flowers, tied together with silk black ribbons. I began to notice that flowers adorned much of the room. Even on the piano laid a large bouquet of white roses, again tied together with a black ribbon. I sighed quietly, suddenly feeling exhausted. Erik stood at the piano, not looking at me. I wished he would speak, but I was too tired to entreat him to do so.

He finally turned around to look at me with his yellow, cat-like eyes. "Will you sing now?"

"I am so tired," I replied. "I'm not sure I can--"

"You can; you simply do not want to," he sneered.

"Whatever." I turned my face into one of the couch cushions.

"Fine. If you wish to be obstinate, then I will sing for you." He cleared his throat and sat at the piano, gracefully sweeping his large spider-like hands across the ivory keys.

It was a song I did not know, but it wouldn't have mattered if I'd known the song or not. From underneath his snow-white mask came a voice lovelier than any I had ever known-- Soft, rich, and relaxed. It was so unlike Sean's overdramatic, overdone tenor-- Erik sounded almost feminine in his singing, but at the same time, his lower register swirled with a velvety richness that made me feel as if I had swallowed something particularly heavy. My eyelids felt weighted suddenly, and my eyes closed, as if the only sense still in working order was my ears... My dear, sweet ears that were allowing me such passion, such agony...

The song was short. After he had finished singing, I opened my eyes to watch his long white fingers outline the final chord. He appeared to me then as more than a man: divinity embodied, or, at the very least, an angel sent to wipe away the petty cares that weighed me down. He had been the only source of true happiness I had known in months. My thoughts racing, I decided without much consideration that I loved him.

"Erik... You sing beautifully," I said, cautiously rising from the couch.

"Thank you," he replied quietly, not taking his eyes off the keys of the piano.

I stood next to him, watching his hands, his eyes, the crown of his head. Why did he not speak? Why did he wear the mask? God, how I wanted to rip it off! I wished so much to see his face. I was sure that the mask was simply some stupid ploy to make me nervous, or at the very least, an eccentric quality similar to men in New Jersey who insist on wearing cowboy hats.

Again my eyes flickered to the flowers on the piano. They were strangely common for an opera ghost-- I had seen my father give the same kind of cheap flowers to my mother on Valentine's Day, though I could not recall from which florist they were. I wondered why he had so many flowers-- Perhaps it was to bring some semblance of life to this dreary dwelling. Still, the flowers confused me. They didn't seem the type of exotic or ethereal plant of a closeted genius, but just the same everyday flowers that cheap men bought on their way home from work.

"Do you like my flowers?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh... Yes," I replied, startled. "I love flowers."

"What is your favorite?" he asked. He was gazing at me suddenly.

"Roses." I turned my face away, his eyes boring into the side of my skull.

"Wait here."

I watched in wonder as he gracefully moved around me through a narrow doorway. When he re-entered, he had a single red rose in his hand. I smiled, amazed and bewildered at the same time. It was the only flower of color in the whole room, and he was bestowing it upon me.

"Is it for me?" I asked, almost flirtatiously.

"But of course," he responded, offering the rose to me. "I have a whole bouquet in the kitchen; I can spare at least one rose. Be careful-- It still has thorns."

I took it gently from his fingers. He was standing very close to me now, and instead of becoming excited as I thought I would, I was suddenly filled with a great fear. I had never noticed it before, but he did not smell like I would have expected a man in dress clothes might smell. In my nostrils swirled a smell that was unpleasant to my memory-- One that I could only identify as the putrid stink given off by the unfortunately deceased animals that were meant for dissection in Biology class. I tried to identify its source, but as Erik moved closer to me, I could only think that... Was it he? It didn't make sense. He was too well-groomed and immaculate to possibly allow himself to smell so... deathlike, was the first word that came to my mind, and I shuddered at the thought.

"Elizabeth," he said simply, his right hand floating in midair. I noticed that it was shaking very badly.

"Yes?" For some reason, I was whispering.

The undirected right hand suddenly found its way onto my neck, making me tremble with something like fear, joy, and cold, for his hands were like ice. He reached his hand onto my long blonde ponytail and pulled at its tie, causing the golden waves to fall free around my shoulders. I gasped, suddenly feeling exposed and beautiful all at once. Erik stood there quietly for a moment, tentatively touching individual tendrils of my bushy mane. My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid it might burst through my chest.

Just when I thought the tension was too much to bear, he leaned over me and clumsily kissed me on the lips. His lips were cold, just like his hands, and it took all I had not to involuntarily pull away from their chill. He was not very good; his large lips practically engulfed my own, and his tongue shyly entered my mouth, only to retreat again. I did not really like it, but at the same time, I was too fascinated by the events transpiring to allow my mind to wander anywhere from his lips. I pulled away slightly, but as I met his pained eyes, I realized that he thought I was rejecting him. I quickly leaned forward and kissed him very hard on the mouth, harder than I intended, and again our lips and tongues met.

At last he pulled away, his breathing shuddery and uneven. I felt strangely embarassed, as if I'd kissed my best friend's older brother. Without warning, he fell to his knees, and grabbing my hands in his own, began to speak fervently.

"Dearest, sweetest, Elizabeth," he moaned, pressing his face to my hands. "I cannot bear it any longer. Dear Elizabeth, how I love you! How I have loved you these long weeks together! How I have longed to take you into my arms, caress your sweet pink face, and kiss your golden head... Elizabeth, Elizabeth, how I will die with love of that name!"

"Er," I replied weakly. I didn't know what to say. To be honest, he was sort of creeping me out a little. Though I was sure that I "loved" him five minutes ago, I was not so sure after having had a brief whiff of the up-close-and-personal Erik. I knew I should just say "I love you, too," and get it over with, but somehow it seemed wrong to be dishonest after he'd just made such a heartfelt declaration.

"Don't speak now," he cried, rising to his feet. "Don't speak, for I can see that I frighten you-- I'm frightening myself! And you should be frightened, because I love you more than is reasonable!" He held fast onto my hands. "Come, you haven't seen the rest of my house. See, this is where I keep my piano scores-- See how many of them I have? I would burn them all for love of you, dearest, sweetest, darlingest Elizabeth. And some of my own work-- Don Juan Triumphant, it is called." He chuckled to himself. "I will not let you hear it now, because it is too great and too terrible! Let us play some Mozart instead! Would you like to sing some Mozart?"

"I'll do whatever you want," I said tiredly.

"Sing a little song, my bird," he laughed, his golden eyes darting wildly. "What do you know? How about Noi Donne Poverine? Can you sing it?"

"I've heard it," I said, watching him carefully. "I'm not sure how well I know it."

"Well then! Come, sit next to me on the piano and read over my shoulder! How I adore your voice in my head, pounding against my brain like some sort of madness! I call it madness, but I love it, truly!"

I obeyed his wishes, sitting next to him at the piano and singing as well as I could. Noi Donne Poverine was no cakewalk, but I would do my best.

"Noi donne poverine, tapine sfortunate..."

His golden eyes kept watching me, but I tried to ignore them. They glowed like a cat's eyes, and for some reason, they made me very uncomfortable.

"O siamo brutte o belle..."

I fancied for a moment that I saw tears fill his eyes, but in the next moment, they seemed gone...

"Il maledetto amore, deh viehni tormentar..."

Finally the song finished. Erik sighed deeply, and I felt as if my heart were once again softening towards him. This man LOVED me. He loved me! No man had ever told me he loved me before, besides my father, back when he acted like he really did love me. Larry certainly didn't love me, and Sean-- He loved what was between my legs, maybe, but not me. Here was a man telling me he loved me, and I wasn't accepting him warmly? What a fool I was!

"Erik," I said cautiously.

"Yes, love?" he responded sweetly.

"May I see your face now?"

Without warning, his manner changed. He leapt up from the piano, his eyes both dark and spitting flame at once. His feet began to pace the floor in a maddening rhythm, his dress shoes slamming like thunder into the floor.

"I was-- I was only asking--" I faltered.

"You will not see this face!" he turned and screamed at me. "Do you wish to be a prisoner of your own fear? Do you wish to hate me as I have hated myself, after I have given you nothing but love? Foolish, stupid girl!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," I whispered, my heart drumming against my ribcage. I was no stranger to irrationally angry men-- My father was one of them-- but I was shocked by the short amount of time it took Erik to go from suave lover to abusive husband. I didn't think he would hit me, but I didn't really know. After all, what did I know about him, besides the fact that he smelt like preserved animal guts and enjoyed living in a house under the ground? Well, at least it's lakefront property, I thought, my sense of humor calming my whirling head.

He turned away again, clasping his hands behind his back. I wanted to go to him and touch him, reassure him that it was all right... I wanted to pull his cold hands apart and hold them in my own. I was afraid to go near him after his episode, but it occurred to me that many times, while watching a romance movie, I'd cringed at the heroine's inability to overcome her fear in approaching a lover. I decided not to be afraid. I went to him and put my hand on his back and my head on his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he whispered. I realized he was crying. Small trails of tears were making their way from underneath his mask, as if his face held a glacier that was melting. I found myself surprisingly unnerved by his tears. Usually when someone cries, I try to stop them as soon as possible, as if they are a fire to be extinguished. However, his tears seemed natural and comfortable, almost.

"I'm not afraid," I replied.

He turned to me and tilted his forehead towards mine, the mask brushing against my face. I let him wrap his skinny arms around my waist and tried not to breathe in, for if I did, the same putrid smell met my nose. He was at least a head taller than I was, but he was so small up close-- The dressy clothes and the high-collared shirts and the cape made him at least have a semblance of a body, but I could feel each small bone sticking out angularly as he held me.

"You should go," he finally said quietly. "Come, I will take you back."

"I don't know what I will tell my father," I murmured. "It's been almost two hours."

"He will not be here to pick you up tonight," Erik said calmly, grasping my soft pink hand in his cold skeletal one and leading me back towards the direction of the lake.

"What?" I looked up at him, startled.

"Don't worry your pretty head," Erik said soothingly, carefully helping me into the boat. "Here, don't forget your rose."

"Thank you." I ran my fingers over its velvety petals, wondering at their softness.

"I don't even know if you love me, Elizabeth," said the opera ghost as he began to push the boat back across the lake. "I don't wish for you to tell me you do if you don't-- I despise liars. But you should know that you always have a friend in Erik," he added warmly.

"Oh-- I-- Thanks," I stammered, unsure whether I should just profess love so that the situation would be less awkward.

"You will always have a friend in Erik," he repeated, "If you promise me one or two things."

My heart sank. There was always a catch, wasn't there?"

"What is it?" I asked politely.

"First, that you will come visit your poor Erik again," he said somberly. "Second, that you wear this ring on your finger, to show your friendship in me." He dug into a pocket and presented me with a gold band, which, while plain, obviously must have cost more than my babysitting salary could have bought.

For a moment, it was if I couldn't breathe. How could I be so cruel? He was probably lonely, his being a genius and all, as well as his having an unusual penchant for underground palaces. My emotions swelled inside me like a storm-struck river, and I unthinkly took the ring out of his cold hand and slipped it onto my left hand's ring finger.

"Of course I'll visit you," I said, admiring the effect the ring had on my previously naked hand. "Why wouldn't I? We will still see plenty of each other, won't we?"

He smiled shyly from underneath the mask, his golden eyes glowing. "I would hope so."

"Is that all? Those aren't very hard promises to keep." I smiled back, staring up at him admiringly.

"That is all, except for one thing." He cleared his throat. "I don't want you to see Sean Winters ever again."

There was a shocked silence for a moment, until I finally spoke up. "But... why... why not? I can't not see him; we go to school together."

"He is dangerous," replied Erik, in an angrier voice than I had expected. "He wants something from you that I cannot allow him to have."

"What does he want?" I exclaimed, surprised and almost pleased by this revelation of Sean's wanting something of mine. I didn't realize that I had anything so valuable to give.

Erik sighed unhappily, his eyes fixed forward. "You are almost heartbreakingly innocent sometimes, Elizabeth."

"I'm not innocent," I grumbled. "I've kissed two-- Wait, no, three, now!-- boys, and I'm only 16."

"Be friendly to him, but distant," suggested Erik in an authoritative tone. "Don't see him alone. You must never see him outside of school. If you do, you will lose my friendship forever." He paused. "You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't really--"

"Keep him near you for now," Erik interrupted abruptly. "He protects you from Sean when I cannot. Until I can love you as a living man, I must allow him to love you for me."

"Larry doesn't 'love me', anyway," I laughed.

Erik shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, whatever he does, he does it well enough."

At length we came to the other side of the shore. Erik led me back up the long corridor of stairs, through the gate, and through the passageway that led back into the girl's dressing room. There, he paused only long enough to lean forward and kiss me once on the forehead.

"Until we meet again, my ingenue," he said, his eyes sparkling. "The days pass like centuries whenever I don't see you."

"'Bye, Erik." I leaned upwards, sort of hoping he'd kiss me again, but he didn't. He only smiled mysteriously and disappeared back through the mirror, into that black abyss that he called home.

I opened the door of the dressing room, only to hear a disgusting THUNK as I did so. To my right on the floor and clutching his head was none other than Sean Winters.

"Oh, God! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were there!" I exclaimed, dropping to my knees to examine his injury. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting for you. What the hell have you been doing in there all this time?" he snapped, waving away my concerned hands.

"Um... Nothing. My dad's going to be late tonight, so I just... studied."

"You lie worse than you act," snarled Sean, still rubbing his head. His eyes were on the rose in my hand. "You were in there with a guy. I heard him. Who is he?"

"What are you talking about?" I cried, scrambling to my feet and stepping backwards. "I wasn't in there with anyone!"

He grabbed my arm, surprisingly roughly for someone who was usually so smooth with the ladies. "Don't lie to me, damnit! I heard both of you talking. Who is he?" He suddenly burst into cruel laughter. "Who says things like 'my ingenue?' Who does this 'Erik' think he is, anyway? Is he out of a Victorian novel? Maybe that's why you like him."

"How dare you!" I spat, whipping my arm out of his grasp. "You don't know anything! Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!"

"Who is he?" Sean insisted, reaching for me again. "Who is he?"

"Forget the name of the man's voice!" I yelled, putting my arms in front of me as a protective barrier. "You don't understand! You can't ever understand!"

"Calm down, Lizzy, calm down. Easy now," Sean said sweetly, as if I were an overexcited horse.

I was in luck that night. Actually, no, I wasn't in luck-- I just happened to be friends with an opera ghost who apparently knew the way the lighting in school worked better than any janitor in the county. The lights flickered ominously, giving me enough time to take advantage of Sean's confusion to make my escape.

"What the--?" Sean exclaimed.

I bolted for the door, the lights flickering all around me as I did so. I didn't stop running until I reached the upper parking lot, where a yellow taxi cab was waiting. I didn't even know that suburbia had taxis. I'd always thought them something limited to cities like New York. There was no surprising me anymore, though, with all I'd seen tonight. There was a man in a beret standing outside of the cab.

"Elizabeth Mayers?" he asked in a New York accent. So, the cab had been sent over from New York City after all. Whoever had paid for this probably had money, since a trip from New York into suburban New Jersey was always unreasonably expensive.

"That's me," I replied breathlessly.

"I'm here to take ya home," he said. "Hop in, kiddo."

"Thank you." I stepped into the cab, willing my brain to stop asking questions.

The next morning, my father came into my room and apologized for not picking me up the night before.

"I hope you weren't worried," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "I was feeling a little nauseous at seven, so I lied down for a nap and was out like a light. I swear, I've never slept like that before. I just conked out. I didn't even hear you come in. Did you get home okay?"

"Yeah," I said casually. "Amy gave me a ride home."

"Oh, Amy. She's a nice girl."

He left me alone to contemplate the events of the previous evening. It all seemed like too much to take in. I was ensnared in a web too complicated to untangle. The only thing I could do is just hope everything worked itself out. In the meantime, I would wear Erik's ring, avoid Sean Winters, and count the hours until I could see the opera ghost again. 


	8. Secrets Discovered

Nothing of consequence happened for the next week or so, except that my mid-quarter report came from school. Thus far, I had straight A's-- except for one subject: Biology. Why was it always Biology that did this to me? Scrawled in ink next to the words "Current Grade: B+" were the words, "Elizabeth has been working hard and has even more potential for improvement. A pleasure to have in class." I had been having a typical lesson with the Opera Ghost that night-- Otherwise, I might have been home to receive the letter before my father did. Unfortunately, when I came home that night, my father was in a full-fledged rage over my grades. I tried to calm him down, but at that point, there was nothing to be done-- His yelling left me in a heap of crumbled pride against the wall. I shook and cried for five minutes before making my escape upstairs, where I indulged in the one thing that always brought me the most comfort from tears. When I was finished I ran cool water from the sink over my hands, washing away any evidence of what had occurred. The water felt icy and sweet against my hot, feverish skin. I went to bed early that night. I was too exhausted to study anymore.

School served as a decent distraction from all these events-- Miss Lazerth was obsessed with the upcoming teaser. Jessica Klein's costume was not yet ready, and she complained in a loud voice about it every day at rehearsal. She was truly turning into the definition of a diva. She would only drink certain types of bottled water-- Evian, usually-- and she expected the water to be ready for her use at the snap of a finger. She, like Amy May, had a small group of admirers who were willing to do just about anything to please her. This group only encouraged Jessica in the idea that she was a goddess to be waited upon, and she spent little time in developing the largest ego in the cast. It was very possible that she even rivaled Sean Winters in self-confidence those days. The two swollen egos seemed to not have enough room in one auditorium, and the couple were often seen bickering in hot voices. Once, Jessica Klein leaned over and slapped Sean hard over the head. Even Miss Lazerth could not allow this type of violence, and gave Jessica a "talking to" after rehearsal that day. Sean looked increasingly unhappy, but I suspected it would be difficult for him to give up the limelight of being the star's boyfriend. Though the Opera Ghost had occupied most of my thoughts lately, I couldn't help but notice that I still felt a twinge of jealousy everytime the two divas kissed.

Erik and I generally went about our business as usual, despite the fact that he was obviously in love with me. I didn't want to return to his underground lair, nor did he request that I do so. Mostly we met backstage after hours where we would sing, act out scenes from various musicals and operas, and occasionally play piano. My fingers were clumsy after a couple of years of neglect, but under Erik's guidance, they were becoming as lithe as they'd once been. If we became too exhausted, we would sit and talk about things. He told me little of his past life, but he would listen about mine. I didn't tell him everything, though. He still frightened me a bit. Still, I couldn't help that notice that our relationship was progressing. Once, he put his arm around my shoulders. Another time, I leaned my tired head into his chest. He often touched my hair, but not much else. It seems crazy, but I was beginning not to notice the deathly smell so much anymore.

The countdown to the schoolwide teaser clip of the musical was two days, and I still didn't have a costume. Fortunately, Jessica Klein had gotten hers, so no one had to listen to her complaining at rehearsal anymore. I was beginning to think that the costume crew had forgotten about me. I voiced my concerns to Amy one day over lunch.

"Have you got your costume?" I asked her.

"Yeah, of course. I got mine three weeks ago," she replied, chewing her cheeseburger thoughtfully. "It makes me look like a total whore."

"Well, no offense, but your..." I glanced involuntarily down at her chest.

"Thank you for staring freely at my breasts, Elizabeth Mayers," she said in a very loud voice, so that several startled freshmen moved further down the table away from the strange juniors.

Amy had been blessed in a way that I hadn't: she was short and very lean, probably a result from the gymnastics and dance lessons her parents had been forcing upon her since the age of four. However, despite the fact that her thighs were probably seven inches less in circumfrence than mine, she had unusually large, shapely breasts for someone so thin. She often complained about how she couldn't wear anything remotely tight or revealing, lest she look like a "total whore."

"If they weren't so huge, maybe I wouldn't stare." I glared at her momentarily before continuing the costume discussion. "So do you think I should say something to the costume director? Do you think they forgot me? Everyone seems to make a habit of forgetting me," I said in a gloomy voice, picking unhappily at my salad. I was on a diet kick that week. Taking 1500 calories a day is a lot harder than it seems in magazines.

"So just say something. It's not so hard."

I moaned miserably. "I hate talking to adults. It makes me so nervous. What if they actually are completely finished with my costume, but are just holding onto it because it is just THAT amazing?"

"Please don't act stupid, it's very unbecoming," Amy sighed. She squinted across the room at the freshman boy who was playing Sky. "Damn you, Nick Breyers, for having a girlfriend. He's so cute, isn't he?"

"I know, aren't I?"

We both whirled around at top speed. Larry was standing over us, holding a wrapped sandwich in one hand and a can of Yoo-Hoo in another. I hated boys. How was it that they drank sugary, pseudo-chocolate products and yet remained as thin as a rail? In freshman year, I drank a Yoo-Hoo every day for lunch. By the time I reached sophomore year, I was 145 pounds. Needless to say, I only drink Diet Coke nowadays. I may be developing ulcers, but at least I'm somewhat thin.

"How's everything going?" Larry swung his long, lanky legs over the bench of the table and looked at both of us in a seemingly friendly way. "How's my... uh... how's my girl?"

I giggled nervously. "She's... I mean, I'm... okay." I didn't understand what was causing this sudden initiative on Larry's part. I wasn't sure I was happy about it.

"I think I'll just... Nip over there and have a chat with Nick," sniggered Amy, brushing the crumbs away from her place and standing up.

"No!" I yelled. Larry jumped, giving me an alarmed look. "I mean... Amy... I need your advice... About this whole... costume thing..."

"I told you what I think. Go up to Mrs. Mias and say, 'Yo, beotch, where's my costume?'" She shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure she'll understand. Bye." She smiled widely. I felt like strangling her a little.

"So... Elizabeth." Larry put his hand on my knee-- A surprisingly bold mood, even for him. Too bold, apparently, because after two seconds he blushed and put his hand back in his own lap.

"So... Larry."

We sat in silence. Was it possible that two people who were supposedly boyfriend and girlfriend really had NOTHING to say to each other? Not even, "Hey, I like the shirt you're wearing" or "Does it bother you that Sean Winters regularly reaches for my butt?" What kind of relationship could this be? How could I have been so stupid?

"Er... I like the shirt you're wearing," I finally choked out.

"Really?" Larry looked as if he were swelling with pride. "My mom picked it out."

Okay, definitely not the right thing to say there, I thought, not bothering to hide my disdain. "Your mom?"

"I know, I know, sounds corny, right? But I really hate shopping, so..." He shrugged.

"So do I," I admitted. "Sorry, but I guess I'm not a real girl."

"Please." He rolled his eyes. "If you liked shopping, then you might force me to come with you sometime."

"No I wouldn't!" I giggled madly. "I don't believe in unusual torture."

Then we were both laughing as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was actually sitting pretty close to me by this point. A ray of sunlight caught his eyes and suddenly there they were, illuminated gems bolted into his pink, boyish face. They were so turquoise... Sky blue, with flecks of yellow, but a touch of green as well... My heart leapt into my throat just as it had the first time we met...

We were in the same Calculus class junior year. He had never spoken to me before, but apparently he'd noticed me before I'd noticed him-- I left my $98 calculator behind in class and was already on my way outside to the bus without realizing it was missing. I heard a high-pitched voice squeak my name: "Elizabeth! Elizabeth Mayers!" and then there he stood, tall and thin and very awkward. He had a very young-looking face; it didn't even occur to me that he was in my grade. There was a certain moment when he turned to face me when the sun shone directly into his eyes, just as it was doing now, and made his turquoise eyes practically glow within his head. A leaf blew into my hair, but I didn't even notice it. I was too transfixed by his eyes.

"Oh... Um... A leaf." He pointed shyly at my head.

"Damnit," I muttered. Smooth, I mentally snapped at myself.

"I'm Larry... Larry Minelli. I'm in your Calc class. You forgot your calculator." He handed it to me. I noticed his hand was a little shaky.

"Oh. Oh. I didn't realize. Thank you. I'm Elizabeth Mayers." I took the calculator from his hand and shoved it hastily into a pocket in my backpack.

"I know who you are," he breathed. "You sing, don't you?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Yeah. I sing."

He walked me to my bus that day, and every day after that.

After we finished laughing, Larry brushed my hand and wouldn't look me in the eye. "I really hope we can... You know... see each other more."

"Maybe... maybe when the musical's over. I just..." I broke off. I didn't even know what I wanted. I didn't want to hurt him, but despite his eyes, there was someone else who held my heart. While I still had Erik, I couldn't really give myself to anyone else. I didn't even know for sure how I felt about him-- I was still getting over the whole strange odor thing-- but I knew that I cared for him more than I could ever care for any boy in my school. Anyway, Erik loved me more than Larry could ever possibly love me. Getting too involved with Larry would be like choosing frozen yogurt instead of ice cream. All I had to do was get rid of Erik's strange obsession with his mask and douse him with some cologne and he might actually be able to take me to the masked ball benefit that was being held by the school choir in a month or so.

"THANK GOD!" yelled a voice behind me. "Elizabeth, I need you right now. NOW."

"What?" I exclaimed, startled. Larry had moved about a mile down the bench of the table by now.

It was Annie Chang, the musical's chief pianist. Her eyes were practically bulging out of her head as she reached over and tugged on my arm. I had no idea what she could want with me... We had barely ever spoken except for the day we were given our dressing room box assignments.

"What did I do?" I asked anxiously.

"The teaser is in two days and you didn't get measured for a costume yet. Doesn't that seem a little strange to you?" She began to forcefully tug at my arm. So to avoid a shoulder dislocation, I smiled and bid Larry goodbye and then stood up to follow her.

"I don't know... I was going to say something today about it," I replied, feeling suddenly ashamed at my own shyness. "Is it too late to make a costume for me?"

"Well, no, you're just a missonary, after all," Annie said, a little too candidly for my liking.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Oh, don't cry, Mayers," she snapped, shoving me into the theater arts studio across the hall. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you."

"Since when do you do costumes, anyway?" I grumbled, stumbling into the room.

"Since Miss Lazerth decided that being pianist wasn't enough work. Believe me, it is," she added irritably. "I have to be at every rehearsal and every single band practice, because without the pianist, well, our rehearsal wouldn't be worth having, would it? She even makes me go to acting rehearsals!"

"Sorry, that sucks," I said unconvincingly.

"Yeah, well, whatever, a girl will do crazy things for love," she said, her face suddenly soft and moony, as she beckoned over the rest of the costume crew.

"Oh, is your boyfriend in the show?" I asked naively.

She stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter. "God, no. I'm talking about college. I need to do this show if I ever want to get into Columbia."

"Ah. College. Right." I didn't tell her that the only time I'd stopped to think about college was when my father yelled at me about how with bad grades I'd never get into a good college. I knew that Juilliard was the best music school in the world-- or at least it was in my opinion. Otherwise, I generally knew nothing about college.

"Okay, girls... and guys," Annie added hastily, noticing the token short, flamboyantly gay sophomore on the costume crew. "Get her measurements, and I mean all of them. We're going to have to work our butts off to get this one done."

"Can't we just ask Mrs. Mias to do it?" squeaked one foolish freshman.

"No, we can't, because then I could get in trouble," she snarled. The freshman squeaked incoherently and practically fell over backwards. "Okay, Mayers. Off with the shirt."

"Wha-- What?" I exclaimed.

"You heard me, take your shirt off. I need to get waist and bust measurements, and that shirt is not exactly ideal for measuring." She eyed my faded "Madison Girls Soccer" sweatshirt with disdain.

My heart began to race uncomfortably. "Annie, I'd really rather not. I don't think..."

"Elizabeth, no one cares if you have a little extra pudge!" she laughed, leaning over and giving my side a seemingly affectionate pat. "It's not soccer season anymore. I know how it is, I play tennis, and during those off seasons, I get as fat as a house."

Annie was Chinese-American and about a size two, both in-season and out, but I decided not to comment on that. All I knew was that I could not take my shirt off. I should have thought about this situation before acting rashly the night before, but it was too late for regrets. I had to make sure that, no matter what, I kept my sweatshirt on.

"It's not that, I'm just not comfortable," I mumbled, stepping away from the overzealous horde of costumers. They were impatiently snapping their yellow measuring tapes like executioners waiting for their turn to beat a prisoner.

"I really don't have time for this," Annie said in a dead serious voice.

I reluctantly-- and carefully-- slipped the sweatshirt over my head. I kept my left arm pinned to my side. When the group insisted on measuring my waist, I lifted my arm so that it lied flat across my chest. I thought I had escaped scrutiny unscathed when Annie announced, "Okay. Now for arm span."

"Wait-- what?" I stammered. "Arm span?"

"Spread your arms out like this--" she demonstrated-- "And we'll measure from fingertip to fingertip. Okay?"

"Can I put my sweatshirt back on, then?" I asked almost pleadingly, my arms still pinned to my sides.

"No, we have to still get the bust." When I didn't move, she grabbed my arms and said, exasperated, "Stop being such a prude! No one cares what you look like! It's not--" She stopped speaking suddenly, and then I knew she had seen.

"What happened?" she demanded, holding my arm up in front of my face.

"It's... I don't want to talk about it," I replied weakly, pulling my arm from her grasp.

She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head in disbelief. "Okay... Arm span, people. Then bust." She looked at me, almost angrily. "Then put your shirt back on before I'm sick."

I felt as if I'd been socked in the stomach. Annie was always known for being almost cruelly honest, but this was a little too much. The rest of the costume crew kept sneaking glances at both of us, but I don't think they fully realized what was going on. I let them measure me as quickly as possible, then slipped my sweatshirt back on. They did the rest of the work-- measuring my hips, my legs, etc. in silence. Annie wouldn't even look at me as I left the room. I was slightly angry-- Was it really her place to get so angry or disgusted with me over something that wasn't her business anyway? It's not like I could help it-- I mean, okay, maybe I could, but not really-- it was an urge as addictive as smoking, and it was all I could do from exploding sometimes.

"Oh, God," I moaned to myself as I left the room.

"You okay?"

"Larry... You scared me..." My right hand flew to my forehead and fidgeted with a small scar I had above my right eyebrow, as it often did when I was under great stress. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he said, attemping to be charming.

"Oh." I turned away. I suddenly was as disinterested in him as I had been before. He was nothing more than a pretty-faced boy with newly-acquired stalking habits.

"Do you want me to talk you to your next class?" he asked eagerly, his eyes suddenly seeming as dull as they had before the ray of sunlight in the cafeteria.

"I can walk myself," I said. I felt cruel, but I didn't really care. He was just yet another person to add to the list "will never understand why." He and Annie Chang would keep each other good company.

"You are very quiet tonight, my ingenue."

It was just another lesson with Erik as usual when I made the mistake of opening up a little too far. I should have known; until then, I had only shared personal trials regarding my family, but none concerning my personal ambitions. We rarely spoke about the musical itself, except to occasionally laugh over Jessica Klein's antics. We did not discuss my talent in relation to hers, nor did I express the torment it was to have to sit at rehearsal and watch Jessica take the limelight again and again. I felt as if she were stealing my role anew practically everytime she stepped onstage. I did not tell this to Erik, because it seemed too petty for the likes of an opera ghost. Tonight, though, I was feeling indulgent.

"Oh... I don't know. I guess I am." I self-consciously pulled my left sleeve further over my hand so that my entire left hand was engulfed in shirt.

I considered telling him about what had happened with Annie Chang, but I didn't want to disgust him in the way I'd disgusted Annie. I didn't know what his mask was hiding, but I was sure it was nothing so disgusting as my secret. I was too afraid of him abandoning me out of fear of my emotional instability, and to be abandoned by him now would be a heartwrenching blow. I could barely imagine life without him now. He wasn't really my boyfriend, but he wasn't just my friend, either; we didn't kiss, but we still touched each other affectionately. I guess above all, he was my teacher, and I was his pupil. I couldn't help but notice with amazement what strides my vocal development was taking. It seemed as if my voice had grown more in the past six weeks than it had in years of my previous vocal training. Not to mention, my acting talent was really beginning to bloom. I could read from a script without sounding stilted or unrealistic, and when I sang, I really poured my heart into it. I tried to understand what the character was singing about... I had stopped singing like an automaton.

Erik stopped playing the piano. "Let us rest."

I liked when he said this. It meant that I could sit next to him at the piano and feel him close to me. I would watch the knee of his black dress pants and wonder, what would happen if I just grabbed his bony knee? I sometimes severely longed for his body, or, at the very least, his kiss, but I felt as if I would be acting too presumptuous if I ever tried to obtain it. I was afraid I might seem like the type of girl who wanted more than just a kiss, and since I assumed Erik was a bit older than myself, I knew that he might be eager to take whatever he could from my body. I trusted him not to hurt me in that way, but sometimes, when I drew close to him, I barely understood myself. I felt something like butterflies and breathlessness at once, and when Erik brushed my neck with his hand, my lower body ached with a feeling unfamiliar to me. It was something I both liked and feared at the same time.

"Are you all right? You seem unhappy," Erik said quietly, his hands still tracing the piano keys. "You can tell me if something is wrong."

"It's silly," I replied, watching his hands. "It's not important."

"But if it bothers you..." Erik outlined a mute triad.

I decided to half-lie. "It's just... I hate watching Jessica Klein sing that part. I wanted that part so badly, and I feel like I deserve it-- especially now. I know there's nothing I can do, and I'm probably just being conceited and self-absorbed, but I really wanted to sing that part." I sucked in my breath quickly, hoping he didn't find me as egocentric as Jessica herself.

He was quiet for a moment, and then, he turned to me, smiling. "I would do anything to make you happy, you know."

"I know," I replied, even though I had not really known this before he explicitly said so.

"I will make you happy, my ingenue," he whispered, his large lips seeming more kissable than ever.

"I am happy." I couldn't stop watching his lips. The ache was too much to bear. I had to at least try to say something. "Erik... can I... would you...?"

He understood my meaning. His hands tangled themselves in my hair, and he pressed his face against mine. The kiss was not so bad this time. In fact, it was a little... I don't know, stirring, I guess. I don't know how to describe it. But I guess the best way to put it is that it felt as if something inside me was stirring. It was a while before he withdrew from my face.

"You taste like strawberries," Erik said. He smiled.

The following day, I was called into the guidance office. My heart was pounding all the way down to the front end of school-- I was positive they were calling me in for a psychological evaluation. Next thing I knew, I'd be in the hospital with a bunch of people who ran arounding screaming that the world was ending. I stared at the glass door with trepidation before entering, but unfortunately, I couldn't wait long, because at that moment, Sean Winters burst through it. He was red in the face and his hair was even more disheveled than usual.

"Er... you okay?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Shut up," he snapped. "Get out of my way." I noticed with cruel amusement that he looked as if he were about to cry.

I figured there was no going back now, so I pulled the door back open before it could fully close and entered the guidance office. To my surprise, Amy was sitting in the waiting area with another girl in my Calc class, giggling up a storm.

"Did you see Sean?" she asked, still hiccupping a little from laughing so hard.

"Yeah, he looked like he was about to have an aneurysm," I said, taking a seat beside her.

"Mrs. Prescott practically laughed in his face when he said he wanted to go to Yale," she said, practically swooning from the effort of laughing so hard. "She said with his grades, she suggested he look into going to a conservatory instead."

"Why was he here?" I asked, not finding Sean's being shot down quite as funny as Amy apparently did.

"College conferences, duh," she snorted. "Why do you think you're here?"

"Oh," I breathed. "College." My heart suddenly slowed back down to its normal rate. I could talk about college. My problems? My father? My encounter with Annie Chang? Nope. But college I could talk about, even if I didn't know anything about it.

"Don't say anything too stupid," Amy warned. "They keep the door open when you go in."

"Poor Sean," laughed the girl next to her.

Amy ended up with the guidance counselor a few doors down, but I ended up with the seemingly-harsh Mrs. Prescott. She was a woman with very fake-looking blonde hair and teeth that were too big for her mouth, but she looked as if she might have been pretty when she was young. She had very green, almost cat-like eyes. When she got excited, they narrowed dangerously and made her whole face very angular. Like Scarlett O'Hara, I remember once thinking.

"Come in, sweetheart," she called when it was my turn. "Sit down. There are too many of you for you to speak with your regular guidance counselor, so we thought we'd all share the load." She tittered at what was apparently some sort of joke. I smiled weakly.

"So... What have you been thinking about in terms of college? Any ideas? Have your heart set on anywhere yet?" she asked, reaching into her filing cabinet.

"Um..." I stared at her blankly. I could always say Juilliard, but I wasn't even sure I wanted to go there. "I don't know yet, actually."

"Well what kind of school are you looking for? Large, medium, or small? Artistic or science-y? Close to home, far from home, somewhere in between? A commuter school?" She pursed her lips and resumed digging through the filing cabinet.

"Uh... Medium. Artistic. Far from home. Definitely not a commuter school." I spat the answers at her as quickly as the questions had been dealt.

"Wait a second... Aren't you a singer? You have such a lovely voice, sweetheart!" Mrs. Prescott beamed upon remembering this information, as if it were a key to my college experience. "Are you interested in a music school?"

I paused, considering this. If I had it my way, I would spend the next four years studying nothing but music. I was so done with things like Biology. But knowing my father, he'd never pay for it. So why even think about it? I shook my head. "Not just a music school, but maybe a school good with music anyway."

"Well, let's look at your file." She skimmed the contents of my previous transcripts, extracurricular activities, and general student record. "A freshman on varsity soccer... captain in your junior year... singing, orchestra, piano... This is all great, sweetheart. Let's take a look at your grades."

I almost wanted to pipe up and defend them, but I decided just to keep quiet.

"Your freshman year is a little weak, but your sophomore year is phenomenal," she said, her smile widening. "How are you doing this year?"

"Okay, I guess. I have a B in Biology." I shrugged.

She chuckled to herself lightheartedly. "Just okay? High standards, hmm?"

My father has high standards, I wanted to say, but I refrained.

"Your PSATs are great, too... This, young lady, is a great package. You have excellent extracurriculars, the test scores, and the grades. I'm going to suggest a few schools for you that, from my experience, would fit someone like you." She leaned over and began to scribble furiously on a pad of paper. When she had finished, she tore off the top page and handed it to me. "Tell me what you think, sweetheart."

At the top of the list were the words "Reaches: Yale, Brown." Underneath those were the words "Matches: NYU, Northwestern." And finally: "Safeties: SUNY Purchase, Rutgers."

"Yale?" I croaked weakly.

"What's wrong with Yale?" Mrs. Prescott asked in a syrupy voice. "The president went there."

"That just proves MY point," I said, expecting her to laugh. She didn't. "Not to be rude, Mrs. Prescott, but I don't think I'm really Yale material."

"Sweetheart, no one really knows until they apply. We'll expand upon this list, of course, and you have to start visiting schools right away-- Have you visited any yet? Most people start late sophomore year, you know." She wagged a finger at me reprovingly.

"I've visited Juilliard a dozen times, but that's because it's next to the opera," I said, clutching the paper list in my hand.

"Take some time over spring break to visit," she suggested, beginning to gather and put away my file. "Get to know your colleges, Elizabeth. You're a bright young lady with a bright future ahead of you." She reached out to shake my hand. I felt as if I'd just been given a sales pitch for the past fifteen minutes. I shook her hand, unable to meet her eyes. They were just too green to look at.

As I walked out, I saw Sean Winters had returned. He was slumped in a chair, and the guidance office secretary was staring at him disdainfully. His blue eyes were glued on me as I walked out of Mrs. Prescott's office.

"Back, are you?" I asked dryly.

"I need a second opinion," he snapped. He nodded towards Mrs. Prescott's door. "Where did the bitch tell YOU to apply?"

"Yale," I said nonchalantly.

"Don't talk to me. Just... don't talk to me," he choked.

I did what he said. I walked straight past him to the door without speaking. Unfortunately, my self-restraint wasn't great enough for me to resist sneaking a smile. 


	9. More Letters from OG

The teaser began to consume Miss Lazerth. The night before it opened, she could be seen ordering around random groups of chorus girls with an unusual cruelty, and upon hearing that my costume was not yet ready, she practically ate Annie Chang's head off. Despite all of Annie's harshness, she cowered underneath the stare of Miss Lazerth.

"Elizabeth, come up here," Lazerth finally snapped after venting her spleen on Annie.

"Yes?" I asked earnestly. I smiled brightly—maybe a little too brightly; I didn't want to look fake.

"I'm sorry, but I am going to have to pull your two solo lines and give them back to Jessica," she said, not looking sorry at all. "If your costume isn't ready yet, you won't be allowed onstage. I can't stand the uncertainty at rehearsal tonight, so you'll just have to give up the two lines for now."

"But… Miss Lazerth." My heart was pounding. I was not used to confronting adults. However, this time, I felt as if I had to at least try to make a stand. "I don't see how difficult it is to make a missionary costume. It's just a skirt and a blouse. I don't see why it can't be finished by tomorrow."

"You wouldn't see, would you?" Annie piped up harshly. "We have about twenty thousand things to do in the next hour, and as a missionary, you are the least possible—"

"Annie. That's enough." Miss Lazerth silenced her with a wave of her wrinkled hand. "You're not going to sing the lines. I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I know it must be disappointing. Jessica always felt bad about not having her own song to herself, anyway. Hopefully your costume will be ready, but I can't guarantee anything." She turned away, apparently already disinterested in me. "Annie! The hotbox dancers are supposed to have gloves during 'Take Back Your Mink.' Did Mrs.Mias buy them yet?"

I turned away, my face hot with disappointment. I almost felt like arguing more, but I knew the attempt would be futile. Jessica Klein had once again gotten to the seemingly impenetrable Miss Lazerth. How did she do it? Why did Lazerth look upon me like a cretin and yet gave Jessica Klein every little thing she wanted? Was it because Jessica was a senior? Or did my mother not participate in the Parent Teacher Organization enough? I scowled inwardly upon thinking about my mother. My mother probably hadn't even been a meeting since I was in junior high school. I didn't like to think of her often, because when I did, I thought of her in bed with that man. I had met him once or twice, but I eventually refused to see him—or her—on a regular basis. Sometimes I felt very sorry for my father and was grateful that he at least loved me enough to act like a real parent. At other times I feared him too much to really love him.

"You look stressed," Amy commented as I sulked in a passageway leading from the stage to the backstage area. She pulled back the velvety blue curtain to better see me. "What are you doing back here?"

"Lazerth took away my solo lines." No need for beating around the bush. No need for explanation as to why. The facts were harsher when set alone.

"What?" She crept inside and sat next to me, her legs short yet lean underneath her tiny skirt. The costume really did make her look a little bit like a streetwalker.

"She said I can't sing it because I have no costume and if I have no costume by tomorrow I can't go onstage." I stared at the wooden wall in front of me. I wonder how much it had seen its days. Perhaps it had seen a stolen kiss between two lesbian dancers. Maybe it had seen an opera singer faint in a fit of stage fright. Maybe it had seen a teenage girl sulk over losing her solo. "It sucks."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Liz," Amy said sympathetically, leaning over to stroke my arm.

"Elizabeth," I corrected in a hoarse voice.

"Yes, of course, Elizabeth." Amy sounded surprisingly wise beyond her years. "Well, you just have to take a stand."

"What?" I turned to her, surprised by this novel idea.

"Tell her that you won't perform unless she lets you sing what was rightfully given to you!" exclaimed Amy righteously. "Fitz gave you those lines because he thinks you are talented and because he has a pedophilic desire for you."

"You're right, he—What?"

"Minor detail," Amy reassured me hastily. "The point is, he gave you those lines. You have the right to sing them!"

"Won't Jessica throw a hissy fit?" I asked doubtfully.

"Screw her!" cried Amy in an uncharacteristically harsh tone. "I am so sick and tired of listening to people bend to that girl's will! She is a 17-year-old girl, not a thirty-freaking-five-year-old Metropolitan Opera veteran!" Her face was red with anger. I had a funny feeling that her fit had less to do with my bad luck and more with the fact that Jessica had a larger fan club than Amy did.

"Let's team up and remove her vocal cords," I suggested evilly. "I always thought I had a knack for medicine. Despite my obvious failings in the life sciences," I added as an afterthought.

"No," replied Amy thoughtfully, fingering a brownish-blonde curl. "This has to stop right here, right now. Promise me you won't perform unless you have that solo back. Promise me." She stared me straight in the eye. It was unnervingly gutsy for someone who had once practically fainted at the sight of a squirrel nibbling at her peanut butter sandwich at summer camp.

"Well… okay, I guess so." I shrugged. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right!" she yelled vivaciously. "This calls for a revolution!"

"It's a high school musical, not a country," I reminded her.

The freedom fighter shrugged her shoulders, still looking determined. She was still looking determined five minutes later when the hotbox dancers were called onstage to do their scene. All of a sudden, her facial expression flitted from hard to terrified in a matter of seconds. She too was vulnerable to Lazerth's spell.

"Good luck," she exclaimed breathlessly, scampering off to join her fellow hotbox dancers onstage.

My turn would come soon enough. I wouldn't actually listen to Amy—After all, I wasn't as gutsy as all that. Then again, why shouldn't I be? I deserved just as much as anyone to be possessive of what little of a part I was given. I wanted to sing my solo. I did earn that solo, damnit. And if it meant risking my director's wrath… Well, then, so be it.

I watched from backstage as the missionary scene went on. No one even bothered to ask, "Aren't you supposed to be up there?" I watched and scrutinized. I realized that, with the help of the Opera Ghost, I was way beyond Jessica Klein now, even in acting. I could speak those words without the fake grin… I could almost feel Sarah Brown's agony as no one listened to her preach. I could be twenty times as god-fearing and a hundred times as convincing as Jessica was being right then. I felt then that I truly was better than her. It was a strange feeling. I wasn't used to admitting that my talent sufficed. There was always one flaw I could find that would explain why I didn't win the position, get the award, play the part. Not right now, though. Right now, I would gladly throw Jessica Klein offstage and feel confident that I could do a better job.

The scene ended boringly, as it always did. I turned to make my way back to my nook between the stage and backstage when I heard my name being called.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth?"

A chill ran down my spine. It was Lazerth. She had noticed. I could have sworn no one would be able to tell that one large-hipped blonde missionary had gone missing. But there she was in the third row, calling my name. She must have noticed, then. Why else could she want me?

"Yes?" I meekly peeked my head out from behind the curtain.

"Please tell me if there's a reason why you feel as if you are above rehearsing with the rest of us." Her eyes were cold; her stare was colder.

I was shaking slightly, but my lips were firm. I imagined that Erik was speaking these words through me; Erik would never have let anyone do this to him. Erik would never let anyone do this to me. I felt stupidly brave and my words reflected it. "Well, Miss Lazerth… I thought that as long as I wasn't going to be in the scene tomorrow, you wouldn't want me in the scene tonight, either."

"I hope to God you aren't being cheeky, Elizabeth Mayers," snarled Miss Lazerth, her eyes wide with shocked anger.

"Hardly, ma'am," I replied calmly, though my hands were cold with sweat. A soft murmur ran through the audience. "It's just that, you don't want me to sing my solo because it might…mess tomorrow up. So, if I'd better not rehearse tonight, either, since if I'm not in it tomorrow, it might throw Jessica off or something." I nodded in her direction. "I wouldn't want to disrupt the delicate balance."

The backstage erupted in a roar of laughter. Miss Lazerth looked as if she could hardly believe her ears. This was her quietest, most socially awkward student in the whole cast and suddenly I was speaking as if I had the devil inside me. I felt my heart slamming into my sternum in both excitement and fear. It was beginning to be too much for me. I had never really been rude to any adult besides my parents in my life, and I was terrified of what events might follow this sudden outburst of mine. I decided I didn't want to know.

"I feel… sick," I said weakly, and then fled the room. Giggles and cries of, "Hey, where ya off to?" followed me as I used my soccer thighs to make my speedy exit.

I went downstairs to the girl's bathroom, where I turned on the water as cold as it would go and then splashed my face with it. God, what had I been thinking? Lazerth was likely to kill me, if not throw me out of the show. She might call my father. I shuddered involuntarily. If she called my father, the whole thing would not have been worth it. I would rather have been cast as a tree than have my father called.

"My ingénue… My ingénue…"

I bolted straight up, reaching for a paper towel with which to wipe my face. He was here, the darling; he was here to comfort me in my time of need. I felt better about my rudeness all of a sudden; Erik would always support me, even if I were stupidly bold in my actions. Somehow I felt as if Erik was not the type to ever disdain a person who had done something considered outrageous.

"Erik… I'm here," I replied, my beating heart calming to a more normal rate.

"What happened?" he asked, still not showing himself.

I felt a little annoyed then. We had been seeing each other for how long, and he still had to shroud himself in shadow and wear that stupid mask? It was just a scare tactic, I was sure. He could be the hottest man alive underneath it. Or, even if he wasn't terribly attractive, he might think the mask made him more so. Whatever it was, I wanted the mask off, and now.

"Lazerth took my solo, so I didn't go onstage. Then I was sort of rude. I think I'm in trouble." I leaned against the sink, staring myself in the eyes in the mirror.

"Fools," Erik suddenly hissed in a surprisingly angry voice. It was high-pitched and psychotic sounding, very much like the voice had first sounded when I heard it inside Miss Lazerth's office. I felt afraid suddenly. This was not the Erik I knew. This was the Erik who spoke into vents and laughed about stagehand's deaths.

"Are you okay?" I asked nervously.

"Don't worry, my ingénue," he said, his voice still high-pitched and chilling. "Everything will turn out for you the way it should."

"What do you mean?" My heart rate began to quicken again.

"Will you come to me in the rafters after rehearsal?" he asked, ignoring my question. His voice had lowered again and he sounded much like his former self.

"What?" I stopped staring at myself and looked around, almost as if I expected him to be there.

"Come to me in the rafters. Go up the winding staircase on the left of the stage and climb through the second door. That will take you where I wish you to be," he murmured warmly.

"Why the rafters?" I asked naively. "Don't we usually stay onstage? It's going to be late once rehearsal ends, anyway."

"After rehearsal ends, they'll lock us in," he said softly, practically cooing. "Then, darkness will fall and the only light will be between you and me."

I was completely silent. Was he suggesting what I thought? I could hardly believe it. The bastard! Just when I thought I'd escaped men interested in only one thing, I had actually willingly walked right into one's trap! He was just as bad as Sean, if not worse! Sean at least was honest about what he wanted! He didn't befriend me and then kiss me with his lips of death and then ask if I'd visit him in the rafters, like some opera whore! I couldn't believe it! I just couldn't believe it!

"Erik… That's… I'm not that type of… I don't think so," I laughed, sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. Between this and the Lazerth incident, the night was not going smoothly at all.

There was a quiet pause, and then his voice again. "So sweet, so innocent. Such a child. I should have known. Children don't make good opera singers."

"What?" I cried in disbelief. "You can't possibly suggest that just because I won't go to the rafters and… do things, things that only you want me to do... that I'm any less talented than I was before!"

"Of course, of course, my ingénue, forgive me. It's just that… young girls do not usually kiss men of my age if they don't mean…" He fell silent again.

"How old are you, then?" I snapped back.

"Twenty-three," he responded without hesitation.

"It's illegal for you to even touch me," I responded angrily.

"It wouldn't be the first time I ever did something forbidden by the law," he laughed in response. "The law is not perfect. Certain circumstances call for certain behaviors."

I began to sob tearlessly. It was as if my eyes had run dry over the course of time. "God, Erik! You're… you're scaring me…"

"My sweet ingénue!" His voice rushed with warmth, but I was unconvinced. "Do not be afraid… I am your angel, your angel of music. I would never harm you."

"Then stop acting like it," I exploded suddenly.

When he didn't respond, I burst out of the girl's room into the hall. I wasn't going back to rehearsal tonight. I would be in trouble, but so be it. Lazerth would just have to deal. Maybe I could plead upset over grades or boys as an explanation for my behavior. Either way I would find my escape. I would find my escape, and it would be without a man who had tricked me into thinking I was in love!  
The next morning, the entire cast and crew of Guys and Dolls gathered in the auditorium. My costume ended up being finished, and Miss Lazerth seemingly ignored the little outburst I'd had the night before. Overall things were moving along smoothly. I was still slightly bothered by Erik's behavior the night before, but I was immediately pacified when the auditorium buzzed that Sean and Jessica had broken up last night over the phone. The reasons ranged from his strange-smelling breath mints to Jessica's insistence that he call her "my goddess." Either way, neither of them looked terribly happy. Actually, Sean seemed to be doing okay—He looked uncomfortable, but he was already striking up conversation with a brunette freshman with an 18-inch waist. Jessica wasn't doing as well—She was tearstained and constantly surrounded by her posse, all of whom were carrying mini-packs of tissues and occasionally paused from comforting Jessica to glare at Sean.

Amy seemed pleased by all the drama. "Jessica's a real witch, isn't she? Even Sean couldn't handle her."

"What does that mean?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Sean is so desperate that he'd hump a lamp pole," snickered Amy. My face almost turned purple and immediately she began to murmur, "Oh, oh. Oh. I didn't mean… Oh, oh."

"Whatever," I snapped, surprised at my own anger. It wasn't that I was one to defend Sean, especially not lately, but for some reason her comment stung.

"I didn't mean it, Elizabeth," said Amy unhappily, worming her little hand into the crook of my arm.

"Stop with the touching… Thanks," I replied nastily.

Amy sighed ruefully. "Frigid cow."

That made me laugh, and I soon forgot my anger. I didn't let her cuddle up to me or anything, but I could at least deal with her. "Settle down! Settle down!" yelled Miss Lazerth, waving her shriveled hands wildly. "Annie will lead you in warm-ups while I see the following people backstage: Elizabeth, Sean, and Jessica."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Even I had to admit that it was an interesting trio. If I weren't dreading the punishment that I expected to come for last night, then I would have found it interesting, too. As everyone began to sing his or her "Ahs" I crept backstage unhappily. I had a feeling she was going to really let me have it this time. I mean, she'd given me detention for having been backstage when I wasn't supposed to have been. What kind of punishment was doled out for those who were purposely naughty?

"Hey, Lizzy," said Sean warmly as he followed me up the stairs. "We haven't spoken in ages… How are you?" He reached his arms out as if to hug me. I dodged them expertly.

"It's Elizabeth, and I was better until you did that," I snapped pointedly, giving him the stare of death.

He laughed as if it were all a huge joke, though, in reality, I was dead serious. "Really though, how have you been? I miss you," he added in a syrupy voice.

"I've been okay," I replied. "No, better than okay. Great." I shrugged off the fact that the Opera Ghost had made sexual advances towards me the night before. Besides that little episode—oh, and Annie Chang now thinking I was a freak—everything was pretty good, really.

"How are things with Larry? Still together? Or do you have a new boyfriend now?" Sean asked, feigning concern for my life.

"We're still together… What would make you think I'd have a new boyfriend already?" I said irritably, still sore about the fact that he'd been ignoring me for months while he had a new girlfriend.

"Well, that guy Erik…" He looked at me knowingly.

"Oh. He's… He's not my boyfriend." I turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "He's uh, my tutor, kind of."

"Your tutor? Your tutor meets you in the girl's locker room?" He gave me an incredulous look.

"Look, it's really complicated; I can't explain," I said simply. I wouldn't have to, either, because just then Miss Lazerth appeared.

"All right. I suppose I should just give it to you straight. We've received some alarming letters concerning all three of you. Two were received by Jessica, and two by myself. One was found early this morning in my mailbox, and I just received the second several hours later." She sniffed self-importantly. "Jessica, when did you receive yours?"

"One last night at my house," she said shakily. She didn't look too good, even for someone with as much confidence as she. For a moment, I almost felt bad for her. But in the next she said something to make me quickly rescind my sympathy. "Another was in my box about ten minutes ago. All regarding this one," she added with a nod in my direction.

"Oh, I got a letter, too," Sean said suddenly. "I thought it was from Larry Minelli or something because he thought I'd been hanging around too much."

"What did it say?" demanded Miss Lazerth.

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment. My heart sank into my bowels. Sean began to read it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Dear Mr. Winters:

Have no fear for the safety of Miss Elizabeth Mayers. The Angel of Music has taken her under His wing and I assure you she is both loved and safe. If you value your life, then make no attempt to see her again.

Signed, O.G."

"Oh my God," I moaned involuntarily.

"Guilty, are we?" snarled Jessica vindictively.

"Girls." Miss Lazerth silenced us both. "Jessica received one of an interesting nature as well. Jessica, if you would read it?"

Jessica glared at me briefly before opening her own letter and beginning to read.

"Dear Miss Klein,

You have a bad cold. Elizabeth Mayers will be singing on your behalf tomorrow. Surely you see what madness it would be to try to perform in your condition. I hope you take this advice to heart.

Signed, O.G."

"As you can see, it concerns you as well," said Miss Lazerth coldly. "The second, Jessica?"

"Dear Miss Klein,

You seem to be disregarding my warning. If you sing tonight, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. It will be a fate worse than death. I hope you heed my warning. This is only for your own good.

Signed, O.G."

"Who is O.G.?" asked Sean naively.

"Opera Ghost." Lazerth gave me a significant look. I blushed in shame and lowered my head.

"As I said, I have received several letters, too. The first goes as following:

Dear Evelyn,

Again we speak. It has been a long time since our correspondences were so frequent, but these times call for these measures, I suppose.

I hope that you realize that Miss Elizabeth Mayers will be singing on Jessica's behalf tonight. Her talent has grown tremendously since the last time you have seen her. I expect she will be given the spotlight due to her, since I will not stand for it if even if she will.

I also expect Box Five to be ready for my use, as per usual. My salary has not yet been paid, but I will assume that this is a minor oversight and will expect it to be put in the usual place as soon as possible.

Please know that I expect these requests to be kept. I have asked you amiably; do not make me use other forms of force.

Signed, O.G."

"Who the hell is he?" Sean suddenly snapped. "He sounds like a real idiot."

"I think the question is, who is she," suggested Jessica, giving me a significant look.

"How dare you!" I exclaimed, stunned. "I would never threaten people like that!"

"Then why is everyone about you getting the part, about you singing 'on my behalf?'" Jessica cried in return. "It's obviously you who wrote them!"

"Girls, settle down," instructed Lazerth, sounding vaguely calm. "I will read the last letter."

"Dear Evelyn,

So, it is to be war between us?

Perhaps it has only been a few hours too short for you to have fulfilled my requests, but as far as I can tell, nothing has changed. I have overheard the principal excitedly exclaiming his good fortune to have been seated in the prime seats in the house, in Box Five—My box. Also, as far as I can tell, you have not yet instructed Miss Mayers on where she is to find her new costumes for the part of Sarah Brown. My salary has not been paid, but I will at least be forgiving on that point—Such a considerable sum of money is difficult to come by in a few hours.

Please obey these demands: Sarah Brown will be played by Elizabeth Mayers. Box Five will be for my use. My salary will be paid. These are simple commands, well within your reach, dear Evelyn.

I warn you: if these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Don't take these risks, especially not when you are responsible for the lives of so many young ones.

Signed, O.G."

"You!" spat Jessica. "It's you! I know you did it! You little self-centered, self-absorbed brat!"

"Shut up!" I yelled in response. "Just shut up! I didn't do anything! I'm not out of my mind, unlike some people!" I wanted very badly to hit her, but I realized that it might get me in too much trouble.

"Girls! Girls!" admonished Miss Lazerth. She still looked too calm for my liking. "Let's not jump to conclusions. I know for a fact that it is not Miss Mayers who wrote these letters. However—" She held up her hand to silence Jessica, who was opening her mouth to protest. "—these threats must be taken seriously, since there are hints of a death threat within them."

"Hints?" exclaimed Jessica. "They practically said they'd kill Sean if he got near precious Elizabeth!" She paused in her anger to give Sean a sugary look. Sean, to my amusement, rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Yes," responded Lazerth firmly. "That's why the administration of the school has been notified. Extra security will be in place for this event."

"But I still get to sing, right?" breathed Jessica, her brown eyes wide with anticipation."

"Of course," said Miss Lazerth, almost monotonically. "We don't give in to threats." She looked at her watch. "The audience will be coming in soon. Jessica, Sean, you are dismissed."

"What about—" I opened my mouth to speak.

"You will be spending some quality time with me, Miss Mayers," whispered Lazerth hotly. "Not a word more." 


	10. The Chandelier complete

"You have some serious explaining to do," Miss Lazerth hissed at me, once Sean and Jessica had made their exit. "Don't expect to perform today. We have too much talking to do."

"Okay," I responded listlessly. Was there any other response to be had? It's not like I could disagree.

"First of all," Miss Lazerth said, her nostrils flaring, "How long have you been seeing the…" she rolled her eyes at herself, "the Opera Ghost?"

"I don't know what you mean, ma'am," I replied monotonically.

"Damn it!" exclaimed Lazerth. She seemed to realize too late what she'd said, because even her face crossed with surprise. "I'm sorry, excuse me. I am just vexed. This has not been easy…" She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. "I don't want anymore… accidents…"

"I really don't know what you mean," I said, my throat becoming thick with oncoming tears. "I don't know why I'm involved in this. Please just leave me alone," I added in a choked voice.

Lazerth's forehead burrowed with an unusual compassion. "I don't want to upset you, Elizabeth," she said, looking almost confused. "But these letters involve you too heavily for me not to speak to you. Have you been seeing him? Please don't lie to me," she added in a quiet voice.

I looked at her, scrutinizing the lines in her face, searching her eyes for shreds of humanity. She didn't understand; she couldn't understand. She didn't know him like I did. My Erik was not a murderer. A potential pervert, I thought, almost amused, but not a murderer. Whatever had happened to him years ago, I was sure it was some sort of misunderstanding. Erik was intense, indeed, almost dangerously intense, but he was not the killing type. No one who kissed with such love and such passion could be capable of such hatred. I simply could not imagine that anyone who crooned the words, "my ingénue" was a killer.

Admittedly, the threats towards Sean, Jessica, and Lazerth were unusual. I could not believe that he'd so openly threaten Sean's life, but then again, Erik was always a little overdramatic. I was dramatic, too. After all, we loved the theater—Wasn't being overdramatic part of our thespian charm? Anyway, what was a "disaster beyond all your imagination?" I was sure it didn't involve death. My Erik, my tutor, my love, wouldn't hurt anyone. He was too zealous about my success, but really, other than that, harmless.

"I haven't been seeing anyone named O.G.," I replied seriously. Not a lie, but not the truth either.

To my surprise and utter shock, Lazerth leaned over and hugged me very hard. She didn't let go right away, either. I was still reeling when she pulled away and held my chin in her vein-ridden hand.

"He targeted you because you are young and talented," she said softly, staring into my greenish-blue eyes with pity. "Being so young, so naïve, and quiet like you… When I first heard you sing, I was almost afraid this would happen."

"I don't follow you," I responded, wishing she'd take her hand away from my face, but feeling too polite to say so.

"I just… I just knew he'd be drawn to you," she explained in that same quiet voice. "He was more soft-spoken than you are. The way you look, the way you move… It's too much… You're too much of… Well, I thought maybe if I didn't draw any more attention to you, if I just let Jessica…" she paused. "I'm talking too much. Excuse me, Miss Mayers." She finally let go of my face and turned to walk away. "I think it would be better if you didn't perform today."

"But my costume is done," I said, bewildered by her odd strain of thoughts, but unable to respond properly to them.

"You and I must be very careful from now on. Letting you perform now would be imprudent. Please trust me as I have trusted you today," said Lazerth in an almost pleading voice. "I trust you when you say that you are innocent in all this. Now, trust me when I say it'd be better for everyone if you stayed backstage during the teaser."

"Whatever," I mumbled, turning my face before she could see my disappointment.

I sat against the wall on the prop table that laid stage left, even though it annoyed the prop crew greatly. Whatever, I was entitled. I was upset and I had been rejected, and plus, I was basically a huge liar. I felt I was justified, however; Lazerth wouldn't understand if I explained that Erik was not just, as she thought, an insane former student, but rather, a genius tutor as well as an ardent lover. I was upset about the notes; I would talk to him about that, of course. There was no need for him to be so determined to get me onstage. We were having a few problems, I guess, but all relationships have problems, really… At least that's what I thought…

As I sat there, I studied the bottled waters that lined the table. Poland Spring, Evian, Evian, Aquafina, Evian. As if Jessica needs her water, I thought bitterly. She'll sound like a toad no matter what she drinks. I took the bottle of Evian, considering spitting in it. I felt too low class, though. Spitting was not something that the better person did. No, I would refrain. Still, a drink wouldn't hurt, and it'd be funny to know that Jessica's precious, untainted water would have my spit molecules surrounding the top. I unscrewed the cap and went to drink, but I noticed that the water had a slightly odd smell. It was probably stale. I screwed the top back on and replaced it. I was considering having a drink of the Aquafina, but the audience had begun to enter and the rest of the cast was rushing backstage.

"Well, if it isn't O.G.," snarled Jessica, stalking up to the table.

"Grow up," I responded coolly.

"No, you grow up. I don't write notes just because I'm pissed about not getting the part I want. Some of us _earn _what we get, you know," she added vindictively.

I couldn't help but squirm uncomfortably on the table. I disliked confrontation, even if it was with the generally all-bark-but-no-bite Jessica Klein. I could think of a few nasty things to say back, but I bit my tongue. Jessica might be annoying, but she did have a large following, and I didn't feel like being any more of an outcast than I already was. Just the other day I'd overheard someone in the dressing room describing me as "really talented, but so snobby. She doesn't talk to anyone but Amy May." Yes, that was the extent of my social skill, sadly.

I smiled fakely and held up a bottle of Evian. "Water, Jessica?"

"What did you do, poison it?" she snapped, snatching it out of my outstretched hand.

"I'm not that clever, unfortunately," I said, laughing at the idea.

"Ugh," grunted Jessica, swigging from the water bottle before replacing it and opening a new one. "This water tastes like crap."

"Sorry." I jumped off the table, bored with the conversation.

I idled around backstage, wishing I could go onstage with the rest of the missionaries. It wasn't fair. I didn't even do anything wrong; yet, I wasn't allowed my rightful solo and my rightful place onstage. I wondered what Erik would think of it. I doubted he'd be pleased.

I noticed Sean Winters approaching me, but for once, I didn't attempt to make a quick exit. We weren't alone, anyway, and plus, he was coming up to me, so it's not as if I was socializing with him voluntarily. Added to the fact that we were not outside of school, I was totally within my boundaries to talk to him.

"That stuff was really weird today, huh?" asked Sean cordially. I noticed he wasn't really looking me in the eye.

"Yeah. Weird." I crossed my arms, suddenly painfully aware of my 36-C chest. God, I needed to lose weight.

"You know I could never not see you," said Sean, suddenly turning on the charm. "Whoever wrote them must be crazy."

"Hey, I thought you told me not to talk to you," I reminded him.

Sean turned and stared me straight in the face. Now I knew he was looking in my eyes, and I didn't really like it. I blushed in spite of myself, shifting uneasily on my feet.

"Why do you talk to me like this?" he asked, sounding surprisingly hurt. "I just want to talk to you. You act like it's a crime."

The flush rose in my cheeks and spread down my neck. I was feeling reckless. I was hurt. I had held back with Jessica; I didn't feel the same restraint with Sean. I returned his stare, noticing how his dark blue eyes had flecks of grey in them. They really were as deep as the ocean, as cliché as it sounds. There was an intricate pattern to them despite all the deep, even blue; they looked like swirling waters. I hated them suddenly. They drew me in, but they repulsed me; the shine in his eyes was too much to bear. He was so incredibly fake. I knew all he felt was guilt, and I was about to let him know it.

"Sean… Give me a break. You go out with me for a measly month, then kiss me while I have a boyfriend, then five seconds later go out with a stick insect without even bothering to notice me," I said, louder than I meant to. Several people were craning their necks to listen. "Why should I care about a guy who does nothing but play games?"

"_I'm _the one playing games!" he exclaimed with equal vehement. "First of all, it was only a measly month because you dumped me."

"You were a jerk," I snapped.

"Thanks, but it doesn't change the fact that you dumped me." His cheeks were almost as red as mine by this point.

"Whatever." I stopped my staring and tossed my hair back, though the toss was not as effective when my hair was in a ponytail.

"Whatever?" He glared at me. "Whatever? Yeah, whatever to the fact that you know I still like you, you give me these eyes and whimper, 'Sean, Sean, I'm so unhappy,' and kiss me in the hall and then ignore me as if nothing happened. How would you feel then if some girl actually paid attention to you when the other acted as if she couldn't give less of a crap?"

"When did I ever ignore you? When did I _ever _ignore you?" I protested loudly.

"You ignored me when you didn't dump your freaking boyfriend!" he snapped. "You ignored the fact that you drive me out of my freaking mind, Elizabeth!"

I didn't speak. He rarely called me by my full first name, and for a moment, it took me by surprise. The crowd of people that was watching was too large for my taste, and suddenly I was grounded again. I was arguing with my ex-boyfriend, backstage, with teachers and students present. It was time to stop this weird little reunion right in its tracks.

"Get a life, Sean," I hissed.

I turned on my heel and walked away, my cheeks burning with a mix between fury and humiliation. It might seem like I was being harsh, but most people didn't understand Sean the way I did. He flocked to anyone who he thought could give him the most publicity. He enjoyed scandal. He enjoyed spotlight. Jessica had served her purpose, but apparently I hadn't yet served mine. Still, the way he called me by name had made me feel uneasy. I mean, it wasn't possible he had real feelings for me, was it? No, my brain replied forcefully. Damn it, why was my heart beating? It was his stupid eyes.

I was making my way downstairs, but Amy stopped me.

"Everything's about to start," she said, pulling on my hand.

"Let go," I said grumpily.

"Shut up," she said cheerfully. "Is everything okay with Lazerth?"

"Yeah, just… I don't know. It's a long story."

"Tell me later," said Amy. Her eyes were darting around excitedly. "I'm too pumped up for this to stand still very long."

We both ignored Sean as we walked back by, then crossed the stage to go to our little backstage corner and hide. We had a pretty good view through the curtain of what was going on both onstage and in the audience. The principal was giving a sweet little speech about how wonderful it was for young people to be involved in music and theater, and how we had all worked very hard, so please be supportive. He then took his seat in Box Five. I wondered if he'd heard of the O.G.'s threats regarding Box Five.

"Hey… Elizabeth…" Amy patted my arm to grab my attention.

"What?" I replied, turning to face her.

"Do you see that?" she pointed upwards.

"See what?"

"The chandelier thing. Do you see it? It's moving." Her wide eyes were fixed on the large gold structure in the center of the auditorium.

It was not really a chandelier. It was a modern-looking star-like sculpture made of gold rods and lined with little lights similar to those found on Christmas trees. It was vaguely based on the chandelier in the Metropolitan Opera. The older teachers called it a disgrace to such a beautiful performance space, but I rather liked it.

"It is kind of moving," I admitted, unable to deny it. The whole thing was swaying back and forth in a more active manner than I'd ever seen it before. It almost looked in danger of swinging right out of the ceiling. "I guess it's supposed to do that, right?"

"I've never noticed it moving that much," Amy replied, her eyes unmoving.

"Yeah, it's weird, but whatever," I said, actually moving to put my hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We've probably just never seen it like that."

Amy shrugged. "I get scared sometimes."

"What?" I cried, startled. "What are you talking about?"

"More goes on that Lazerth lets on," explained Amy in a low voice. "I see the way she talks to Fitz sometimes. He's doesn't act as happy as he did anymore, either. And you," she added suddenly.

"I don't know what you mean," I replied weakly.

"You never tell me what goes with you and Lazerth. Actually, you don't tell me much of anything anymore." She paused. "Sometimes when you look at me, it's like you're looking right through me," said Amy in a surprisingly emotional voice. "What are you seeing?"

"Stop being such a freaking drama queen," I said in a harsher tone than I meant to. "Why are you making something out of nothing?"

"It's starting," was her only reply.


	11. Chandelier Part II

**Note: This is the second part of Chapter 11. It will be put altogether after everyone's read and stuff. :)**

The orchestra began to play. The first song that was performed was "A Person Can Develop a Cold." Ashley sang with the usual ditzy gusto that was expected of her. She actually had a pretty good voice. She only really belted, but she was good at it, at least. Amy snorted at the conclusion of the song.

"Common," she said very seriously. "She has a very common voice."

"What does that even mean?" I laughed.

"Shut up. It's your scene, in case you care," she pointed out unhelpfully.

"Whatever." I pulled the curtain back (it was surprisingly heavy, I found) to watch Jessica Klein march onstage with her group of missionaries. The scene was, as usual, deathly boring and unworthy of watching. I was positive that I could see audience members dozing off during Sarah Brown's big speech. An upwards flick of the eyes informed me that the chandelier had calmed itself for now, rocking back and forth only gently. It certainly didn't seem as if Jessica's singing was going to cause a "disaster beyond your imagination." Then again, knowing my Erik, he would never deliberately sabotage a high school show. He wasn't violent or malicious. He was a little… excitable, perhaps, but not malicious.

The next scene was the first between Sky and Sarah. The dialogue was stilted, as it always is in a high school show, as it led into the song's first few chords. Amy moaned as Jessica made her vocal entrance.

"For the love of God!" She smacked her hands over her ears. "Who gave that girl vocal chords!"

I laughed appreciatively. The song continued.

_I'll know_

_When my love comes along_

_I won't take a chance_

_I know he'll be just what I need_

_Not some fly-by-night Broadway romance…_

_I'll know_

_By that strong co-ACK!_

"What the heck was that?" I exclaimed, jumping at the strange noise. The orchestra had squeaked and squealed into silence, and an excited murmur ran over the audience like a ocean wave of sound.

"Was that Jessica?" Amy cried, looking just as astonished as I. "What happened?"

We risked poking our heads out from behind the curtain to fully see what was going on onstage. Jessica was gasping and touching her throat with her manicured fingers, while (Name?) was staring at her blankly. Fitz was conducting the orchestra, but at the sounding of the "Co-ACK" he had put his baton down in distress.

"Okay," whispered Jessica. "It's okay. I don't know what that was. Sorry."

The song started up again from the beginning. This time, Jessica only got through the first few lines before meeting with trouble again.

_I'll know_

_When my love comes along_

_I won't co-ACK_

_Co-ACK! Co-ACK! Co-ACK!_

Again and again her voice sounded, "Co-ACK! Co-ACK!" Tears were streaming down her face. The orchestra began to die down as the audience erupted with exclamations over the strangeness of the sounds from Jessica's throat. Nick Breyers began to whisper to her and grab her by the shoulders, but Jessica went on trying to sing, making that horrible noise, "Co-ACK! Co-ACK! Co-ACK!"

A cackling came over the sound system—A cold, calculating cackle that I realized I recognized all too well. The cackling continued, only to be interrupted by a voice crying, "Behold! She is singing to bring down the chandelier!"

"Oh my God!" screamed Amy, grabbing my arm for dear life. "Look at it! Look! It's going to fall!"

The chandelier was swaying back and forth even more than it had been earlier. It began to creak in its hinge, when all of a sudden it snapped from its hook in the ceiling and crashed down upon the heads of students seated in the middle section of the auditorium. It erupted in flame before settling back into a quiet sizzling. Screams echoed in the auditorium and chaos ensued. I saw the principal stand up in Box Five and stare down at the mess of students and smoldering metal in disbelief.

"I'm going to be… Oh my God," I moaned.

"Elizabeth? Are you okay? Elizabeth?" Amy whimpered, clutching her little body to mine.

I pushed her off out of pure necessity and ran, my eyes darting in twenty directions in search for something that could give me relief. I found it—the garbage can. I shoved several chorus girls out of the way so I could fall to my knees in front of the plastic container, where I vomited until even things I had eaten in the third grade were expelled. By the time I had finished retching, my face was wet with tears.

He had done it. _He had done it._ I knew his voice better than my own; he had laughed at the sight of Jessica Klein making a fool of herself, he had laughed at the idea of a chandelier falling and killing innocent students! He had laughed in that horrible icy way, the way he had laughed when Mr. Kellog had died. He had probably even killed Mr. Kellog. He would kill Sean, too, and anyone else who stood in his way. Maybe, if I displeased him someday, he would kill me, too.

"Elizabeth… You need to get out of here."

Someone's hands were on my shoulders; they were hands I knew. They could never just touch a girl; they had to dig deep into her skin so that she would be branded with his mark. For the first time in a long time, I wanted that touch. I wanted it to surround me so that the Phantom's wouldn't. God, how could I have been so stupid? I had let Erik touch me with those cold, murderous hands! No wonder he smelt of death—he created it!

"Sean, what happened?" I whispered, turning and wiping my mouth across the back of my hand.

"C'mon. Get up. You're not well." He held me by the waist and tried to hoist me upwards, but I resisted.

"Did anyone die?" I asked, still whispering weakly.

"I don't know," he answered. "They're evacuating the whole stage and auditorium. You can't stay here. I'll take you to the nurse."

I laughed at the idea that Sean wanted me to take me to the nurse for something as silly as vomiting when out in the auditorium, other students had just had pounds upon pounds of metal dropped on their heads. I felt oddly out of my head, and I couldn't stop laughing even as Sean urged me to get up.

"Please… Elizabeth… Please," he pleaded, his hands still on my waist.

"Won't you be a little romantic and hold me? You have to comfort the heroine of the story," I said, feeling lightheaded.

"What is wrong with you?" he exclaimed.

But he stopped trying to pull me to my feet and instead pulled me close to his chest. He was so muscular for someone who probably hadn't lifted a weight in his life. I began to cry weakly as I leaned my head into his sternum. He was wearing a white collared shirt, like Erik always wore. Even in my haze I recognized how comforting the fabric felt against my face, and how my makeup left a pinkish mark on the white collar. I was close enough that I could smell his shampoo. He probably used Head and Shoulders, from what I could tell. He smelt soapy and clean.

I had just begun to close my eyes when Sean was abruptly jerked from my body. I almost lost my balance and fell on top of him, but I regained control long enough to realize that Sean was lying sprawled on the stage floor. Standing over him was a figure dressed in a hooded black cloak. I could see just enough inside the hood to see that the figure was wearing a white mask.

"What the hell?" snarled Sean. "Who do you think you are?" He jumped to his feet, practically shaking with fury.

"Touch her again, and you die," the figure said in that familiar high-pitched voice. "Let us go, my ingénue."

Without pausing to ask for my content, Erik grabbed me roughly by the arm and began to drag me across the stage. I resisted, but for all my athleticism, I could not defend myself. I began to scream nothing in particular: words like "help" and "no!", mixed with the occasional "please, please don't," and the cry for Sean's help.

But Erik was too quick. He dragged me into the very alcove in which Amy and I had been sitting. He held me by the arm as he flipped open a trapdoor that was so well-blended with the floor that I had not even realized that such a door existed. It was large enough to fit two people through it, and Erik wasted no time in shoving me into the hole in the stage.

"Stop!" I screamed desperately. "Stop! Let me go!"

I could hear Sean's voice above me. I tried to respond, but Erik slammed the door shut behind him and slapped a cold hand over my mouth.

"Stop it!" he hissed. "Are you mad? He will hear you." He reached up with his free hand to put turn a key in a lock at the base of the door.

"Am I mad?" I yelled, shoving his arm away from my mouth. "You—you're—you're a murderer—You're a killer—" I reached up and tried to hit him, but he had the reflexes of a cat. In a moment, he was holding me by the neck against the floor.

"You will calm down before we go any further," Erik said quietly. "This behavior distresses me."

"_Your_ behavior distresses me!" I spat, wriggling under his grip. "Let go of me, you murderer! You freak!"

Erik sighed as if I were no greater a nuisance than a fly. He picked me up and swung me over his shoulder as if I were a rag doll. I beat wildly against his back with my fists, but he seemed not to care. For a man so thin, he was awfully strong. It frightened me. I had always thought that if worse came to worse and he tried to hurt me, all it would take is one display of my muscle and I'd have him in a headlock. However, apparently his long limbs were hiding more strength than I realized.

When my fists didn't work, I tried kicking at him. After all, kicking was my strong suit. I noticed that it was having some effect on him; he made an occasional grunt of displeasure as my feet came sailing down upon his abdomen, but unfortunately, he was holding me by the thighs, so I couldn't swing my leg enough to build up momentum. When this strategy didn't work either, I moved into a full body spasm. I flailed every limb I had wildly, hoping it would disorient him into dropping me.

The only person it was going to disorient that day was me. As we crept along the wall, my violent jerking caused me to slam my head hard into the stonewall. The last thing I heard was, "My ingénue, if you would not struggle so, this would be easier," before slipping into an impenetrable darkness.


End file.
